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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563147">GOT Simulation: Swapped</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeLiterature/pseuds/CreativeLiterature'>CreativeLiterature</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>GOT Simulation [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, F/M, M/M, Self-Insert, Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:28:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,327</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeLiterature/pseuds/CreativeLiterature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Explicitly violent and sexual. Five friends become self inserts which align with their best qualities, but swaps their genders.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>GOT Simulation [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>PROLOGUE</strong>
</p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>Adam, Clara, Max, Grace and Zoe decided to play the simulation Game of Thrones, except that three of them were careful to stipulate that Aemon fit them for their <em>best</em> qualities this time, in selecting for them a self-insert well matched.</p>
      <p>"But what would I do?" Zoe asked, on the periphery; knowing how much she goaded Adam by doing so, who longed for nothing more than for <em>all</em> his friends to play, <em>happily</em> and with no loss whatsoever.</p>
      <p>"Well, who would you be most like?" Adam queried, as Clara paged through the locked-out selection criteria; Max rewatched a gratuitous scene on the playback machine, and Grace hopped about Clara like an errant fly she would swat away.</p>
      <p>"Easy," Zoe shrugged. "Brienne. One of the Sand Snakes."</p>
      <p>"Ew, not those sluts," Clara scathed.</p>
      <p>"I wouldn't be presenting my body to Dorne," Zoe shook her head, and shook off Adam as a dog would with wet fur. "Give me a sword and I'll cut any man down."</p>
      <p>And so with some slight trepidation, Adam watched the timer countdown. And though the simulation was to match him with his best quality, he couldn't help but notice that the blue holograph of Aemon wore a smirk; and for a blind man, that didn't bode well.</p>
      <p>"That's not right," Grace frowned, and unusually, merited interest from the others with her certainty where she was usually unsure. "It says I'm a boy."</p>
      <p>"And I'm a chick!" cried Max, and realisation dawned on the twist when their world became a vortex…</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>
        <strong>AGOT</strong>
      </p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam glanced up at the canopy of his bed, and knew there was something wrong indeed. When he willed his hands lower, he about had a coronary when <em>something</em> was amiss, and patted his chest and with surprise tore off the sheets and glanced down at the nightgown.</p>
      <p>"Oh - oh - oh," with what would have otherwise turned <em>Max</em> on, made him rush for the chamberpot in the adjacent room. The sight settled him even less. "Oh, no."</p>
      <p>And with what indecencies could he be expected to perform, as a woman in this world, and one in which married to a most bitter brute of a husband? Adam collected what calm he had; the instrument he did have was one of foresight, and when the servants came in along with the ladies maids, gold and crimson finery were laid out and jewellery and Adam sank deep into a bath.</p>
      <p>Golden hair swept up into a bun, Lannister colours on show and an erect back; he led the way with four Lannister guards flanking him and one borrowed from the Kingsguard, through the corridors of the Red Keep while his heart continued to beat.</p>
      <p>Cersei? But he was nothing like Cersei, except that perhaps he envied her ease of movement as a Lannister, her pride of place; and that she certainly got up to a lot later in the books that he would have liked to enjoy. She was cunning, but he was only because some events he could anticipate!</p>
      <p>And most of all, that if he was the other gender, were all his friends, too?</p>
      <p>And so Adam sat down to break his fast beside the king, and those monstrous piggy eyes glared back at him. And for all his tact, Adam was quite sure some simpering words would not set the king at ease. No - a bitter marriage was not necessarily cured by persistence and subtlety and seduction, within the space of a year.</p>
      <p>And here it was that Adam was sure he would fail - for it was only sycophant which reined in his friends, time and again; tools which would not merit well when the shadow of a stag loomed large.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Clara dismissed her servants once the bath was drawn, and sat in it, not terribly enthused to know she had a growth between her legs and what she hoped was not the blood which caused lesser men to overtake others in their desires. She knew the waning stares of men and would not suffer herself, even as mildly curious as she was for a girl to be sensitive where a man was not, that Joffrey's ardor cause undue harm in what she understood for now as, getting the blood up in a battle.</p>
      <p>Gold hair hung in hanks and though it framed her face not unlike a girl, she detested being in limbo. She would have the curls cut, and her appearance more razor sharp. She would train at sword, and not be the little shit that Joffrey was. For if there was a year to spend like this, she would not attempt to be <em>humble</em>, for she was not; and she supposed that was why she had been chosen to be Joffrey; she would not capitulate, and she would brood until the right time came to slap back.</p>
      <p>Of course, as a man, especially as a prince; she needn't feign subservience where she only did as a girl because a man's close presence could meant his hands on her neck. Joffrey wasn't strong, but she'd make use of Sandor and the rest. She didn't need obeisance, but some damn respect would be good.</p>
      <p>And so she rose out of the bath, dressed in black Baratheon stag that she might look more a terror, and joined Sandor outside to go break her fast with her 'family'.</p>
      <p>At once, she saw Cersei dipping her eyes meekly to Robert; her curious gaze swept the room, and Clara knew who was playing that little tart. She gave a little wave to her 'mother', and Cersei's eyes lifted in alarm but to drop to her plate, lest others find out.</p>
      <p>Nobody would, Clara commiserated, and sat on the king's other side. His eyebrows lifted to see the stag so imprinted rather than the crimson and gold of the Lannister. She speared the best food Westeros had to offer - except perhaps the Reach - and chewed away, determined not to be a pampered little princeling any longer.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>If Max would have been pleased to be Cersei - for reasons which would make maesters blush - then his being distraught at being a nine year old girl only surfaced beyond a dagger in his throat to end things quickly that, as Arya, she was naturally expected not be a lady and had some skill however small with blade or bow or riding.</p>
      <p>Max shuddered in the only instant of his keeping when it occurred to him how <em>vulnerable</em> he was in a little girl's body, let alone reminding him of how he was picked on at school during this age, before he had learned the necessary cajoling tactics or stepping out of sight needed to manipulate bullies to find a better target; or simply join in with their ranks.</p>
      <p>But as Arya, Max found a kinship at least with Jon Snow, but quickly learned he had to stay out of sight of his parents and some siblings - that snub-nosed Sansa - who would call out if he ventured off to test with the sword with that sly-grinning Theon.</p>
      <p>And sewing lessons be damned! He liked them no better than Arya, and had he some mature insight or empathy, he would have felt sorry for women who across Westeros had no option but to wait for marriage and sew, breed children and make sure their husbands were fed.</p>
      <p>But Max was still young enough in real life to convince himself no such lifestyle would befall <em>him</em>, and so he snuck out for nightly jaunts until it came to pass that Ned hauled him - her - up with a stern reproach, one which he was prepared to lie for, and one which he didn't like to admit was a pleasing father interlude from Ned; and knew deep down, if he had a real life father like Ned, he mightn't have gone so far astray as to bother Clara every other day and steal things out of her room.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>If Grace was disappointed at being a boy, she was at least glad of being someone who mirrored Myrcella in looks, and more like a girl; Grace had always wanted to be blonde-haired, and with a sister so kind and close in age, there was enough about the year to come that Grace could forgive.</p>
      <p>Even if adults talked down to her which they did in real life already - and her friends too, for that matter - she gathered during a visit to the garden with Myrcella that someone important had died, and watched as her mother's skirts swished across the courtyard, trying this posture and that, looking less feral and more concerned - Grace had also noticed that her older brother Joffrey was obviously <em>not</em> himself. To have Clara her older brother, and Adam her mother was a confusing riot indeed; and Grace found it safer to stay out of the way. With Clara the heir, who would care what she and Myrcella did?</p>
      <p>And so Grace smiled at the face Myrcella made when she stuffed a bite of a lemon cake in her mouth, and let the sugary contents bulge out the side of her mouth and gaped like a fish and choked with a reddening visage as a septa came by to clap her on the back.</p>
      <p>"Thanks," Grace spluttered, giggling along with Myrcella. Perhaps she would grow her hair long, and she and her sister would be twins!</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe heard naught but her own clanking footsteps, heavy breathing and the putrid male odor that she would've ordered the servants to run a bath for, if she could find any.</p>
      <p>In the halls she walked, she could've mistaken the place for a blackened, burnt out ruin; if it were not for the tapestries of three dogs, erect furniture and water dripping from the flagstones. Outside, the brilliant beam of sunlight hit her with a wince. A horse was notched to the post, black and snorting and red-eyed, and she drew her greatsword and the horse buckled - the sword wasn't heavy, but surely it looked almost comical to so easily wield it.</p>
      <p>With a couple strokes in the air, the horse neighed and Zoe walked over to pet the horse, with a kindness that startles animals who have never known such. Zoe's gut curled with indignation that the man she was playing had such a history of brutality, a long list of enemies, and a reputation that wouldn't be wiped out with a couple calm words to hounds in cages.</p>
      <p>She sheathed the sword and wandered back into the keep to run herself a bath, and decried the manual labor of a medieval time, and could barely fit in the tub. The muscles etched like history in her body were something else. On the one hand, she was built like a tank; on the other, distrust and suspicion would be on everyone's faces; and she suspected it as a girl, but as <em>this</em> man, it would only be confirmed.</p>
      <p>She would have to be on her guard; and that, with a grim smile, was something she knew as a woman.</p>
      <p>Freshly clean, she wandered outside to the horse and climbed aboard. The flat rolling hills all around leant no indication of where she might ride; and yet as she started in a direction, she caught sight of the shocked stares of villagers carrying their goods on mules.</p>
      <p>She felt some ego from being vilified and scared; it was one thing to control a player character who has a bad reputation; quite another to be in their body, and feel it personally. She rode up to a stout mule led by an old man who quivered to see Zoe remove her helm, and the bristly beard which itched a storm as she scratched like a madman.</p>
      <p>"Where are you headed to?"</p>
      <p>"Lannisport, ser," buckled the old man, and the donkey wheezed by his side.</p>
      <p>Zoe glanced down the bath and saw the vague trimmings of horses and villagers trailing in the distance. She enjoyed the fresh air, but needed news. She hated to admit that she probably should have paid a bit more attention to Adam when he was going about the events that would pass.</p>
      <p>Zoe reached into the saddlebag as her horse whinnied and pulled out a couple of coins; blood money, most likely. And the look on the old man's face was of as much surprise as if Casterly Rock had slid into the Sunset Sea.</p>
      <p>"Safe travels," Zoe set her helmet atop her head, and rode the horse to Lannisport.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Adam/CERSEI</p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p>Adam prayed in the Great Sept of Baelor, on bent knee and hands clasped; and if night tolled with the moon shining through the leaded panes; if tiredness rocked her; she hoped that grief made the king fall into bed with whores and not her. She would not suffer the gropings or worse of that man.</p>
  <p>Of course, the king could find her. Yet every safeguard must be taken.</p>
  <p>And so, almost dizzy with sleep, and ego fulfilled that Cersei's wanton, prideful ways might be toned down a little bit with the septons sure to whisper of how devout the queen had been in her attention to Jon Arryn's death, she swept out onto Visenya's hill, where at this time of night, her guard was tripled and she made her way back to the Red Keep.</p>
  <p>It was too late, she knew, to inquire after Clara/Joffrey or Grace/Tommen. The former could be heard clashing swords with Sandor in the yard after breaking fast, and the latter of giggling with Myrcella. Adam was glad that at least he had Clara and Grace near as he took up into his apartments, his guard dispersed and a Kingsguard at the door.</p>
  <p>"Ser Arys," spoke a familiar voice. "Perhaps you'll permit me to take the watch?"</p>
  <p>And so with a nod, Arys took the offer of replacement, and Adam turned to see Jaime; handsome, swaggering, smirking Jaime take his place by her doors.</p>
  <p>"I - well," Adam blushed, for never had he any man such an intent look in his eyes. It was the same look any man would willingly give Clara if she gave them the time of day, which he envied her to decline on a whim and yet keep them coming closer without conscious effort on her part.</p>
  <p>"Varys was only too happy to report that his little birds saw you coming out of the sept of Baelor," Jaime's eyes narrowed. "Do you mean to become a septa, or a Silent Sister, Cersei?"</p>
  <p>Adam giggled nervously, as much as a maiden would to a bard who first strums his lute and pays his first compliment; heady and flushed. Then he remembered that Jaime might <em>want</em> things.</p>
  <p>"Well, er," Adam fumbled. "I'm very tired, if you'll excuse me."</p>
  <p>And so with ladies maids, Adam slept sound in his bed, but glanced towards the door, and knew not what he wanted to happen with sureness of will and certainty of intent if he stared long enough.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
  <p>Clara drew some measure of spirit and independence, and with a breath of fresh air out of the stinkhole that was King's Landing that she might ride a horse along the royal party, headed up the kingsroad for what she knew would eventually end in the wintry north.</p>
  <p>But for now, with Sandor by her side who she appreciated for his sullen silences not dissimilar to her own, she could close her eyes to Grace's excited giggles in the wheelhouse and Adam's chattering mindless drivel, keep her eyes on the road where the king rode a horse well weighed down with his fat, and look to the castles ahead for a feast held in the king and queen's honor.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Max/ARYA</p>
  <p>With much ado and chaos, did Max spy Winterfell and its inhabitants preparing for the royal visit. Largely he was left alone, but when not it was to sit with Sansa and learn to sing or curtsey and sew. And when out of sight, he could sneak off with Theon to hunt, not yet old enough to properly wield but to at least watch and compete in races, which he did not win. And Jon was his confidante, the two shared a camaraderie, and Max was grateful to that; he eyed the sultry women of the night in Winterfell's town outside the walls, and knew not a chance remained that he might lose his virginity in this simulation.</p>
  <p>And bugger, no, would he conscript himself to lie in bed with a man, his age notwithstanding. He knew the measure of his ardor as a <em>man</em>; to let himself be the recipient of what he was sure the same the world over for their gender, he would never willingly participate in those grotesque fantasies.</p>
  <p>Only Adam he knew was as sensitive as a lamb, and Max anticipated what he would get up to as Cersei. But at least Max as Arya could count upon people not taking him for granted; they wouldn't know what lay underneath the exterior. People would underestimate Arya; and they certainly would Max.</p>
  <p>He had wanted to name his direwolf pup Diablo or Spawn or Vegnagun; but he didn't want to draw too much attention to himself, so he called it Nymeria. And really, the name didn't matter when he could snuggle up at night with the little pup, and imagine setting it at his enemies.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
  <p>Grace sat in the wheelhouse as it rocked this way and that; and the crannogmen helped assist it where they could, and it made for time of sighs and grunts and really, the whole trip had soured everyone's taste to cross through this narrow appendage of grief and sustained fright as to whether they might drown; but for Grace, her sights and highs could not be reduced to folly.</p>
  <p>Even as Myrcella remained grim, Grace could not help but be excited; all of Westeros was her plaything, and with it a secure contingent of royal soldiers, Adam who glanced worriedly out the window and tried not to fret, twisting her hands in her lap; and Clara who manfully deplored the muck and took it on the chin whenever a glob of slime got on her clothes.</p>
  <p>And Grace hoped and watched and waited. She was excited to meet Sansa; but hopefully, she wouldn't mind having a boy tag along. Surely Sansa would be more excited to hang out with Myrcella than her. But she could join in! Grace resolved meekly, and so contributed to the overwhelming anxiety of the party only fulfilled to bright, cheerful disposition when the Neck was behind them at last.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
  <p>Zoe rode to Lannisport, a wealthy enough port with Casterly Rock looming like a shadow in its wake. She and her horse were given wide berth as she rode through; she had thought of a gentle trot so as not to scare others, but that only intimidated others that she might be within reach to draw her sword.</p>
  <p>Even the Lannisport guards eyed her with some misgiving; their orders and were duty bound, and any scuffle would result in their death; yet they seemed to trust to some degree that the Mountain was not so entirely a frothing, rabid dog as to break out a fight so shielded by his liege, Lord Tywin Lannister.</p>
  <p>These facts scarcely came to mind for Zoe, who was to understand that atop that most impenetrable fortress was the person to whom she owed absolute loyalty, or at least, even the Mountain did.</p>
  <p>And so Zoe paid coin for an inn, and the innkeeper bumped the resident of their finest room just in case, and her satchel remained full of gold for all that was spared of no expense so that Zoe might be comfortable, and the residents remained lest they insult their newest guests by fleeing for other accommodations; yet they ate and talked and slept like lambs, just to be sure.</p>
  <p>Zoe grew irritated by the comparisons. A powerful warrior was she in the body of; but one so menacing and intimidating that she could not hope for company? It had not been long during her stay in Lannisport that the closest she might find for a fraternity of like-minded soldiers were in the form of gruff, coarse, harsh warriors who were more like to break bread and find common cause with Max.</p>
  <p>"... the Mountain's men," she caught the innkeeper whisper hurriedly to his wife, and cleared a table that they might sit.</p>
  <p>Some elaborations were made and the soldiers, emblazoned with the three dogs to whom they owed their allegiance, swung their legs over the table where Zoe sat alone. The slight trepidation and goading respect out of fear they must pay and out of wisdom they knew was correct, told Zoe that she very well might make a use out of these idiots after all.</p>
  <p>"Ser," nodded Chiswyck, grey and grizzled as the others pulled seats closer.</p>
  <p>Zoe ate in silence, and took the measure of them; some roved their eyes over the passing serving women or groped; another whetted his blade with his teeth; one dunked his face in beer; another spoke in such coarse fumes as was like to make a septon faint. She did not expect that she should join them; and they did not anticipate such. But their eyes all spoke of a loyalty, and brutality which she did not like. She shuddered to think if she should tell them she was but a teenage girl, and most caught it. Zoe rose from the table, a scion of strength.</p>
  <p>"Heading to bed, eh?" Polliver nodded, and Zoe felt their stares on her back, a cold sweat breaking out. What if they used a dagger on her in the night?</p>
  <p>Then she would <em>crush</em> them, Zoe resolved as she closed the door to her room and moved a bookcase against it, with strength that flexed her fingers as she glimpsed outside, the darkening squalls of gulls on the Sunset Sea.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam swung out of the wheelhouse, with Winterfell's walls rising all around, the formation of little sheds and huts and the Starks on bended knee; Jaime on his horse and Clara/Joffrey and Sandor near; the king standing before Ned, and Adam kept his posture erect, his face glazed, and noticed with surprise the look young Arya was giving him; he glanced quickly to Clara, who nodded.</p>
      <p>"Such beautiful daughters," Adam forced himself to smile and say to Catelyn Stark, who nodded graciously. "What are their names?"</p>
      <p>"This here is Sansa," Catelyn quickly looked to Clara, who wore only a bored expression. Sansa curtsied as practised as any southron lady. "And this is Arya."</p>
      <p>Arya did a bow not unlike a courtier, almost too flagrant and stuck her tongue out. Catelyn blanched as did Sansa; while Adam still wore the puzzled expression. He could see the cogs working in Arya's head to discreetly communicate a way with which he might indicate such.</p>
      <p>"Hey, look," Arya pointed at Myrcella and Tommen, the latter of whom still had not yet enough hair to be considered similar enough, or a sister to the former. "One more and you'd have three twins."</p>
      <p>Adam's eyes flashed; he glanced to Clara's whose mouth was a thin line. He nodded to Arya and made polite accommodations to Catelyn that her children were lovely once more, and watched as Ned led the king down to the crypts where the Starks were buried.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Clara saw the looks of mild disdain thrown her way, and thought nothing of it; if her reputation as Joffrey had already preceded her, or by way of appearance she carried herself as smart-alec, do-nothing prince, she would not go out of her way to convince them otherwise. In the yard, overseen by Rodrik Cassel, she armed herself with a wooden sword as did Robb, whose mild look of mirth infuriated her, but she was not Adam who would jump to please everyone. She stepped forward and began the dance.</p>
      <p>Robb of course held the advantage: he pressed forth, and Clara had not the skill he had, in simulation or not, to hold him at bay. The whacks did not bring tears to her eyes as she had strived to hide from Sandor during their initial sparring; she now knew the measure of pain and of bruises, yet with northern eyes upon her, she had hoped to at least put up more a fight than was quickly dispersed by Ser Rodrik.</p>
      <p>With Robb's, and other eyes upon her, Clara knew she should try to mingle. She should try to ingratiate at least to lessen the impact of Joffrey's reputation. She tried a different tact.</p>
      <p>"We should spar again," Clara spoke through her teeth. "I-I <em>probably</em> have much to learn."</p>
      <p>Not quite convinced, Robb bowed all the same, and the little party dispersed. It grated on her, but she would not subsist on their demands. A man's world was one of slamming egos against one another; it was not fruitful negotiation met to a common understanding, and she would not engage in a dick-measuring contest because she did not feel that lust of ego that so many men would shrivel without. Of course, on the other hand she knew, a sensitive man could sometimes be worse, of how clingy they were…</p>
      <p>These thoughts led her into the bath house, where Sandor stood stoically as she undressed and was soaped down by servants; yet she bade them dismissed and did it herself, lest Robb and the others think she was a princeling; and caught herself for caring. She vaguely thought, as the northmen crowded the bathhouse, that if one did not swing between the legs, it must be hard for guys.</p>
      <p>But any expansion of sympathy on their part was lessened by her gladness that she would emerge from this simulation having never to return to such a front. In some ways girls were simpler; a guy's world was so much more bombastic and arm wrestling and idiocy and starting wars.</p>
      <p>She kept largely to herself in the bathhouse; aware of how more feminine she appeared to be by facing her nakedness away; yet she could not bring herself to manfully, unashamedly face them with nothing to hide.</p>
      <p>For she <em>did</em> have something to hide, and if the whispers bothered her, she did not let them see it.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max sat in the great hall of Winterfell, and watched as the procession was led in. King Robert that fat oaf; queen Cersei who with a mild disposition and eyes darting at any soldier whose eyes lingered lustfully was obviously Adam; prince Joffrey who he had already concluded was Clara; and Grace/Tommen, who was the least guarded of them all, eyeing with some slight envy that it was <em>Myrcella</em> who got to be led in on the arm of supposedly handsome Robb Stark.</p>
      <p>Max was tempted to fling a spoon of food at Sansa and make a ruckus; but he didn't want to actually leave the table, and was smart enough to know when he might be caught. He was bit put off than Jon Snow was to eat later, but put that aside to enjoy the feast. After all, food was food, and where he was tubby, Arya had weight to gain which he could indulge without feeling Clara's stares over the dinner table.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>"But don't you find it weird?" Grace frowned, with a little smile to sit with Max/Arya in the chambers set aside while the royal party went out for the hunt.</p>
      <p>"Yeah, nah," Max shrugged with a grin of his own. "They won't see me coming."</p>
      <p>"Maybe… "</p>
      <p>"What about you?" Max figured, who saw only a mollycoddled, red-cheeked little boy with golden hair. "What are <em>you</em> supposed to do?"</p>
      <p>"Well," Grace puffed out her chest. "I'm friends - sister - brother, actually to Myrcella. And me and Sansa will be close friends!"</p>
      <p>Max made a face at that, and Grace bade he shut up; and the septa came over to tell her off.</p>
      <p>"Oh, it's no fun being a prince," Grace decried. "Why couldn't I be Myrcella's twin, or Sansa's? I don't want to be a boy."</p>
      <p>"Well, you've got Clara as your older brother," Max laughed, at the ludicrousy of it all.</p>
      <p>Grace rolled her eyes. "<em>She</em> doesn't want to hang out with anyone. All she does is swordfight."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>If Zoe had time - which she did, though not for dallying - she might have spent it checking her affairs for Clegane's Keep; under no delusions why servants disappeared or dogs were afraid to enter. If her reputation was not so steadfastly mad, she would try to repair the damage done and see to it an understanding of managing the keep's administration and finances to get it into better shape. A small village and a couple houses dotted the lands with which she extracted some meagre income.</p>
      <p>Yet first and foremost Zoe was in the body of a warrior, and perhaps it was to her credit that Gregor had such a fearful reputation. To swing a sword was one thing; to know what she was doing was another. And if any misslip occurred where she looked like a giant playing with a sword for the first time, at least it was that the enemy was generally running in the other direction to notice a lack of dexterity or cause that would otherwise out her as an imposter.</p>
      <p>She rode out from Lannisport with the "Mountain"'s men in her rear; they didn't trust or knew well enough to stay behind, and this still increased her anxiety. She was not sure to what degree they knew she was not the ferocious beast they trusted to lead them; because if they had suggested which they yet had not, she would <em>not</em> participate in torture or physical brutality upon an unwilling victim.</p>
      <p>She led them up to the Lion's Mouth of Casterly Rock, and Lannister soldiers in red and crimson bade she and her men enter, even as they wore the faint fear that every other traveller they came upon had. If the natural instincts of the Mountain's men were to rob and harry those same travellers; they were smart enough not to carry it out where the shadow of Casterly Rock loomed.</p>
      <p>Zoe dismounted and handed the reins to a servant, and her men followed behind as she entered the castle, as laden with gold as would be the veins of ore. Lannister guardsmen waved her through, and it was the maester Creylen who met her in the hall, who advised her that if she was to see Lord Tywin, he was meeting with his master at arms.</p>
      <p>"I'll wait," Zoe pulled up a chair, and so did her men. They played cards, accepted the drink offered, but with furtive gazes to the door which Zoe fixed her eye upon.</p>
      <p>When the door opened, theirs was a tableau of studied, suddenly-thrown-together discipline. A goblet rocked and fell to the floor, oozing Arbor red onto the flagstones and the master-at-arms who emerged from the chamber saw the Mountain and his men and scurried. Lord Tywin sternly followed.</p>
      <p>Zoe rose out of instinct; the tall, shaved-head man with his stiff gold whiskers and unaccountable majesty with his erect posture and tight mouth that had never smiled, walked over as though they had had a standing appointment.</p>
      <p>"Ser Gregor," Lord Tywin's gaze wavered not a bit. His glance went to the mess her men had created. "And I see you've brought your <em>companions</em>."</p>
      <p>Zoe would've buckled and bowed and scraped had she been Adam, who had a lifelong reverence for the Lannisters, in particular their patriarch. Yet she merely bowed, as did all her men; and when she turned to face them, she barked a command that they clean it up and how dare they shame her in front of her liege lord?</p>
      <p>Surprised, open-mouthed, the men stole the soapy buckets and brooms already procured forth by quaking servants and got to work. When Raff glanced up with what was thinly disguised resentment, Zoe glared such that he bowed his head. She turned back to Lord Tywin.</p>
      <p>"You've heard the news?" Lord Tywin raised an eyebrow as Zoe struggled for words. "The king. He'd be feasting at Winterfell by about now."</p>
      <p>"Yes… " Zoe hoped to draw more information out of him; if Lord Tywin expected more words out of her, he did not show his disappointment.</p>
      <p>"If you are looking for work, I have nothing for you at the moment," Lord Tywin caught Kevan's gaze out the corner of his eye, and nodded. "You may make yourself comfortable, if you can find it in your men to keep the peace."</p>
      <p>With that, Lord Tywin strode away; he closed the doors with which he meant to engage in council with his brother, and Zoe was left watching idly her men scrub the flagstones clean as though it were their consciences. She knew it would only be a matter of time, and this incident, while it pleased her, would not sit well. Theirs was a band of mutiny and dark tales, and while she was impressively strong, she did not want to find out how many of them could overwhelm her…</p>
      <p>"To the barracks," she barked, and her men clattered their tools, unable to meet her eye as the servants swept in, somewhat relieved that their job had however hurriedly been mostly done for them.</p>
      <p>Zoe fetched more gold out of her satchel, and the fear in their eyes she paid no attention to, no mention of, and she finally had to leave the gold on the table. No indication of look or body language could bely that Gregor was anything but a barbarous brute. Finally, Zoe found the words:</p>
      <p>"For your trouble."</p>
      <p>And the servants nodded frantically and went to their work, the gold untouched as they scurried in their labors, and as Zoe made to follow her men, she was sure it would be still there long after.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
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    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam watched the royal party ride out; and as was custom, he was always guarded, and this time it was by Jaime alone, all in white. His look was one well known even if Adam had not known of the plot.</p>
      <p>"Cersei, I spied an abandoned tower," he gestured, and in the space of intimacy created for them by the considerable lack of people in the yard, his was a discreet motion.</p>
      <p>Adam knew where this was to lead: in Bran's fall! How could he risk such? But the overwhelming attention of a man, even so well known in book and on screen, with breath and gaze and physical presence so near, he compromised.</p>
      <p><em>Surely there was time for something</em>, Adam promised himself. <em>If it's over quickly, Bran will never know.</em></p>
      <p>And with trembling hands he acquiesced and allowed for Jaime to lead the way, cobwebs snagging at his hair and the dry dusty air making him cough. And then the tower window looked upon a thin wintry field where the flags and horsemen were a dot on the breeze, and Adam turned shaking to Jaime.</p>
      <p>"Cersei," he leant in. "You are shaking as a maiden. If this is an act, you would do well as a mummer."</p>
      <p>The Cersei Adam knew would have hit Jaime at the insult. But he could not pretend. All the water in him was coiled; at but one touch, it would spill on the flagstones, and his an empty skin which Jaime would have shock to behold.</p>
      <p>"I-I'm not," Adam stammered. "I'm not acting."</p>
      <p>Jaime drew a wry frown upon that. He knew his Cersei, and cared not whatever act she tried to pull the wool over his eyes for. <em>She</em> was here in flesh and blood, and he knew her so well: this iteration of personality, only excited him to know more.</p>
      <p>And with the vague sense of time, trying to organise his thoughts, filing away much as one did during a commercial break how long one had to rush to the bathroom before the programme was back on, Adam resolved not to let time so escape him as such that meant Bran would spy on them.</p>
      <p>And folly of follies, Adam had never been kissed before; and so when Jaime with studied, careful, casual practice took him as erudite a Latin lover on a soap show, Adam's only response was warm and forgiving and sudden.</p>
      <p>And in the lapse of mind which made him glance up at Jaime, his worry for if it would hurt as Jaime lay poised above - for Jaime had had to spend an unexpected amount of time warming up the oven than usual - Adam caught sight of who had been staring for a minute or more.</p>
      <p>The fear that he would be caught and exposed as an imposter, or that word would travel back to Robert, was not so great as that which was Jaime leaving his arms - the thought of having known such a closeness and some idiot boy removing him from that precipice of what he idealised was <em>true</em> love, only angered him such that Jaime saw the familiar Cersei emerge.</p>
      <p>"Get rid of him," Adam shook. His body still ached with what was to come - and being denied the fruits of what was surely what everyone but <em>he</em> had - he felt Bran's presence was a karmic, divine insult meant to pry him from the moment of liberation. "I want - I want him <em>gone</em>, Jaime!"</p>
      <p>Jaime was surprised at the anger which shook his sister. He turned back to the boy, meaning him no harm other than that which would be far reaching and deadly. Cersei, he saw, was less scared of what Bran might carry word of; only irritated that their lovemaking had been interrupted.</p>
      <p>Jaime spoke some short words and shoved the boy out the window and Adam breathed relief. The thud rocked him for a moment, but Adam reached for Jaime all the same. And he was pleased to note that Jaime did not repel him either. On the eve of the boy's injury, Adam would not allow <em>conscience</em> to come in the way of real, pressing need. Wasn't this what the simulation was for, after all?</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Clara sat with Myrcella and Grace/Tommen break her fast; Sandor to one side with his dog's helm; and of course, Jaime and Adam/Cersei; the latter's gazes all she needed to know.</p>
      <p>Of course, when Bran had fallen, <em>that</em> was when she had known the inevitable. Clara surmised it would happen sooner or later. Adam was the scabby, loser dog picking at scraps on the street; too earnest and desperately wanton loving to go home with the first abusive owner feeding it a bit of steak.</p>
      <p>And so Clara considered herself well removed from that particular attraction, and slid herself out of the table to head into the yard. She cared not for Bran flakes and not only due to knowing he would live.</p>
      <p>She wandered out into the yard, with Sandor close by as she drew Lion's Tooth and he with almost casual, yawning abandon fought back with no scurry at all. She was hard pressed to hold the advantage, and caught a mild crowd of onlookers; but nobody expected Sandor to be bested, and so no one was disappointed when Clara, at length, strode off towards the bath house covered in sweat.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max admired the blade Jon procured forth: Needle, he would name it, for there was not a more fitting name that would not stand out as with his choice of Nymeria for his direwolf.</p>
      <p>And so Jon sat on his bed and lamented that he was not to see Arya for a long, long time.</p>
      <p>Max didn't particularly want to go to the capital; there was less chance of swordfighting, but nor did he - or could he - want to go to the Wall, where it was colder there than it already was. At least the capital was warm, even if it did smell like his bedroom when he hadn't cracked a window in days, or so his mother complained.</p>
      <p>And they had hugged and Max was somewhat morose; Sansa was no great fun to be around, and Clara/Joffrey would not condescend to practice with him.</p>
      <p>"How would it look if I beat up a little girl?" Clara had scoffed before walking away, and Max in Arya's body could not respond the way he would have outside the simulation.</p>
      <p>And so as the trip back south progressed, Max had had to content himself with sparring with the butcher's boy near a river; they drew wooden swords for the boy would scarcely bring his father's cleaver, and they were met by the gaze of Sansa - a girl Max found interest in - led by Clara/Joffrey, as regal as a prince in an anime. Max lowered his wooden sword, and Mycah let his clatter as he bowed.</p>
      <p>"What are you looking at?" Max dared, if anything it would fit into Arya's guise, and Sansa gasped and held herself back from covering Clara's ears.</p>
      <p>"How can you speak that way," Sansa hushed to herself.</p>
      <p>"It's alright," Clara spoke up, with narrowed eyes at Max and Mycah. "Let them play their little games."</p>
      <p>Max watched them go with resentment; after all, wasn't he more fit to be a prince, squiring a babe like Sansa? Clara knew it and paraded what she had that he didn't as if <em>their</em> mother brought home only one chocolate bar. Max attacked Mycah with more alacrity, and he complained of the bumps and bruises, and Max was sorely tempted to toss him in the lake.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace was relieved to reach King's Landing once more; she had spent a tiring month traveling <em>to</em> Winterfell, and a rather hasty approach back. She saw to it that she could have lemon cakes, but Myrcella and Sansa already had plans. Grace ate alone in her chambers, with even Adam too busy to join her.</p>
      <p>She was measured and fit for new clothes, but to her dismay it was tight fitting doublets and little jackets and fussy gloves; she wished she would wear the gowns and bows that Myrcella wore; Grace felt pressed in like a sausage with all these buttons and hose.</p>
      <p>With a member of the Kingsguard close by, Grace watched from a balcony as Clara sparred with Sandor; she wandered up to Adam/Cersei's chambers but heard a quick, harried rebuff and hoped she was alright; she passed the garden where Myrcella and Sansa had laid out their little picnic, and felt thoroughly rebuffed only to return to her own chamber where her escort coughed in the corner.</p>
      <p>"Aren't you bored?" Grace glanced up at Ser Arys, who smiled fondly.</p>
      <p>"'Tis my duty, of the Kingsguard," he nodded. "Surely a little prince can find amusement?"</p>
      <p>"Oh!" Grace gasped, to Ser Arys' surprise. "Stay there!"</p>
      <p>Grace busied herself in her own chamber, and opened the door a crack to wave him through. Puzzled, he obeyed.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe sipped but little; and even then, enough the give the impression she was drinking. If the Mountain's men noticed, they were too busy getting plastered themselves. Besides, the Mountain was probably known for being able to hold his liquor.</p>
      <p>The soldiers and garrison of Casterly Rock were off-duty; slinging swords over racks and rubbing tired eyes; not quite of the same sort to be buddy-buddy with the foul-mouthed cretins over at the table, and Zoe felt diseased to be part of them.</p>
      <p>Yet she watched and waited, and when the last member returned from outside adjusting his breeches, she rose and caused a stir.</p>
      <p>"Come with me," she ordered, her voice brooking no argument.</p>
      <p>Faintly drunk to very drunk, her men followed her; along the way, one groped the breast of a woman out in the cool night air. Zoe tensed and balled her fists; she led the way into the castle, not exactly brooking argument with the stationed Lannister guards and headed down into the Rock.</p>
      <p>Through warm cavern corridors and the echoing sound of their footsteps, Zoe led the way with only but the drunken murmurings and queries of restless men quick to their blade and their tongue. She descended lower still, and even the most plastered of the bunch was too fearful to speak up.</p>
      <p>Off a corridor came a locked door; and a servant materialised out of the darkness with utmost fear, a nod and revealing a set of keys. He unlocked the gate and shivered as Zoe led them through.</p>
      <p>The clanging and closing of the door was final. Chiswyck jumped; Shitmouth swore; the Tickler was as wary as one could be, drowned in liquor.</p>
      <p>"What's this about, ser?" asked Polliver.</p>
      <p>Zoe took a torch from its sconce and walked along until they all saw at once; the eyes gleaming in the light, the low growling, the sunny manes. As one, they jumped like the Wiggles; and Zoe drew her greatsword. Theirs was a glance at her, as she turned from them.</p>
      <p>"W-we didn't bring our steel," panicked Shitmouth, but the Tickler drew his dagger. "Are we to get us some pelts, ser?"</p>
      <p>Zoe walked to the cage door where the lions fixed her with a gaze; she lifted the latch on the door and swung it open. The lion padded across while the men watched, transfixed. Zoe flexed her sword arm, and gestured towards the cowering men in the corner.</p>
      <p>A lioness padded past her mate, took the measure of Zoe's size and grit, and loped towards the men; theirs a shriek of outrage and fear and the stench of piss as the duo leapt upon the men; the Tickler dropped his dagger in the carnage and his screams were strangled.</p>
      <p>In the silence, Zoe's heart was thudding as she held the torch with one and her greatsword in the other. The lion and lioness loped towards her, delivered of their kill with the bodies achingly torn apart. With heavy strides, with malice and intent, Zoe circled round the lions, even as they bared their teeth and growled and resisted.</p>
      <p>Zoe reached the door, heard the key hastily clang in the lock, and only breathed a sigh of relief once she was on the other side. The servant flew to check the latch was secure and heard the lions eating.</p>
      <p>"Well, that was close," Zoe said idly. She picked out a few pieces of gold, and handed him the torch. She stomped back up the corridor, and the servant was left to wonder how might he get the lions back in their cage.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
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    <p> </p>
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>"You must hide your face," Jaime smiled, in the rapture of having such an amiable bedfellow; however much he was used to Cersei's fire and passion. "It shows."</p>
      <p>"It does not," Adam coloured, and knew it was true.</p>
      <p>From the breeze blowing the silk covering the balcony, Cersei's chambers were well appointed as queen; and Adam found them as comfortable as any whose alternative is the stables or the hard ground. Yet as he interlaced his fingers with Jaime's, replete and moon-faced and all of a dream, he knew the hand clamping on his heart with ache and pain that their joining must soon end, for there were plans to be laid beyond the confines of the bedchamber.</p>
      <p>Adam rose and changed into a fresh gown and tidied his hair as Jaime buckled and strapped into his ornaments of office; his white armor and his sword which Adam almost envied him to wield with such skill. Cersei's body was not meant for bar fights.</p>
      <p>"Our children are acting strange as of late," Jaime frowned, on the eve of his parting as he stood near the door. "Joffrey is… silent. And young Tommen more bright and playful than ever."</p>
      <p>"I'm sure Joffrey's just learning to be a good king, I hope," Adam dampened. "And Tommen always was a good lad."</p>
      <p>"Yes… " Jaime considered, nodded with the Lannister smirk and headed out the door.</p>
      <p>Adam felt his heart and heat subside as he stood on the balcony, the stench abominable. He watched the little critters of King's Landing scurry below and knew that a great weight was upon his shoulders. He had to protect the Lannister crown, and while Clara/Joffrey and Grace/Tommen were safe in hands; Max/Arya was sure to be a liability, and who knew where Zoe was, who she was?</p>
      <p>Adam shivered and drew on some furs; at least this could be said for Cersei: she had an amazing wardrobe, one truly to rival Renly's. He tottered out of the chamber and headed down with Jaime by his side, towards the chambers where the royal princes and princess lived. Clara's rooms were empty, of course; and Myrcella was lunching with Sansa.</p>
      <p>Yet the guard outside Grace's door was gone; and with an abrupt change in pace, Adam walked near to open the door into what would be the foyer of sorts, and found it empty. Jaime looked around with a frown. Adam stalked across the room to the only other door besides the privy, and heard murmurings as he opened the door to Grace's bedchamber.</p>
      <p>Surprise cast across his face, and that of Jaime's; Grace sat cross legged on the rug, in a semi circle joined by a wooden horse, stag and lion; she raised an empty jug and poured into Ser Arys' goblet, whose nod of reply was subsumed by the reddened glance to the queen.</p>
      <p>"We're having tea," Grace smiled, as Jaime promptly burst into laughter.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>"My prince," Sansa took Clara's arm, and though she understood the impulse of one's first love, Clara disliked the naivete which Sansa had yet to grow out of.</p>
      <p>Of course, strutted Clara as an anime prince through the Red Keep met by bowing soldiers and Varys sweeping an elaborately robed obeisance; she was hardly about to instill in Sansa the necessary lessons through arms of force that Joffrey had chosen to give her.</p>
      <p>But nor could Clara sit Sansa down, girl-to-girl, and instruct her on the ways men might abuse her, and if anything, she could appreciate that Sansa had the perfect-lady facade down pat. Of course she did; she was heart and soul tied to the heavens of a place as beautiful as Highgarden!</p>
      <p>She was aching in spirit and body to be a lady and queen of a majestic palace, decked in Cinderella gowns with all the formal notions of chivalry and bravery best espoused by Shrek fighting the dragon.</p>
      <p>But Clara knew of what would come to pass, and if the least she could condition Sansa for was a friendship to be soured by a division of their family's Houses, she wouldn't <em>abuse</em> Sansa; she would be indifferent by circumstances, and hope that would be enough.</p>
      <p>For Clara did not mean to sleep with a girl in this simulation; and if she had to, certainly not the maiden kind which only made her angry; why had they not the tools to rebuff unwanted advances?</p>
      <p>But girls here were in a more precarious position. They could not speak up as Clara knew could happen in her life; there were not as many protections.</p>
      <p>And if <em>this</em> fact made Clara more protective of Sansa, she did not need it. For she admired who Sansa would turn into, and if events would not allow such growth; she was kin by gender, and so Clara set her sights on the future, and dulled out any dulcet tones with which Sansa might parrot on about their betrothal and wedding one day.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max did not mind the smell of King's Landing, and soon found solace and independence to be gifts not to be taken lightly. With Nymeria at his heels, he explored King's Landing; and it was to one side or the other that smallfolk in the marketplace leapt to as the direwolf bounded alongside.</p>
      <p>He saw what it was, in a girl no less, that made him so alike to Arya. Perhaps she was too young to cause <em>real</em> damage, but it was fun just like being a kid again, and scrawny and muddy enough not unlike a boy and to be taken as one, to play and bound and especially with a pet by his side.</p>
      <p>But for all the Starks who guarded their chambers, the king's men and the crimson gold Lannister soldiers were everywhere; those and the gold cloaks who at first insisted he move along.</p>
      <p>And Max was reminded that he could not play for long. There were events set into motion above his head which would alter his relative peace. And not for his family's good, he reminded himself.</p>
      <p>Although he was callow and cunning, he <em>did</em> enjoy having a father; and however much Sansa might eschew him, and Clara might disdain him; he at least had Grace to talk to, and Adam at feasts who seemed too occupied darting her eyes between the king and the Kingslayer.</p>
      <p>There was time to practice with Needle, but it had been Jory who told on him where Arya might have kept it more tightly wrapped up; and so after a short conversation which, with patience and esteem higher in his favour did Max find Ned to be, he was to keep Needle as long as he kept out of trouble.</p>
      <p>And when Syrio Forel arrived, Max knew he was in for a sore beating indeed.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace clapped and watched as the knights were led in, up high on her seat in the lists as part of the royal party; and her merriment was matched only by Sansa's, who sat beside Clara/Joffrey.</p>
      <p>She didn't particularly care for warfare; if she had been in the body of a swordsmen, she would sooner have joined the sept. Yet while not terribly roused by chivalry and songs of valor the way Sansa was, what she did enjoy was feeling scooped up in all the movement: sunshine and laughter and chatter.</p>
      <p>It was as though no one had ever deserted her, and there was nowhere for anyone else to go.</p>
      <p>Here was <em>here</em>, and she was at the center of the universe.</p>
      <p>And when handsome Jory Cassel stood with Lothor Brune, and the king called favor to the latter, Grace drew stares when she cried, "Oh, but he's so handsome!"</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe rode into the capital through the Lion's Gate, her satchel somewhat lighter and her burden lifted; the rank smell of her men as leavings for lions didn't leave her, though.</p>
      <p>Her horse carved a path through men, and she settled her horse upon a post as she washed in a bathhouse where the occupants took their toils to leave her almost well alone. She glanced up and saw Sandor, who defiantly disrobed and with malice glared back; Zoe kept her sword close, and met the only man who had yet to cower in fear besides Lord Tywin.</p>
      <p>Out in the blinding sunlight, the hubbub of the tournament raised her spirits. She didn't want to participate in the melee lest she accidentally kill someone; however much the bloodlust might roil within her. And though she wanted to spar, no man was quite that stupid; even less so considering Gregor's reputation.</p>
      <p>Such gave a bad taste in Zoe's mouth, and so she enlisted for the joust.</p>
      <p>She had never wielded a lance, and if misgivings were made within the helms of other participants, they kept theirs quiet as they readied their horses, prepared the saddles, and squires ushering back and forth. Zoe's own was a boy called Joss, who she had bumped into upon her return to Clegane Keep, and after some ruminations picked up that he could be a mind yet cured from the filth Gregor had subjected him to.</p>
      <p>Zoe mounted her horse, nervously steadied the lance and Joss handed her a shield with three dogs upon it. Her throat was dry and her nerves stilled; if she was aiming a hank of wood this big, how the hell could she deflect such from her opposition with a but a milder plank of wood?</p>
      <p>And the horns sounded, and Zoe rode forth; her legs were powerful muscles over the well built horse, and her opponent was but a diminutive figure in her narrow slit of helmet, and her lance veered off and so did his; and the relief was immediately replaced with a fear of doing it again.</p>
      <p>Zoe veered her horse at the other side of the lists, the line of wood separating their ride; and urged forth once more with the lance well placed; she struck her opponent's shoulder who fell and twisted and with agony got up from his horse. Zoe swung the reins around to victorious applause.</p>
      <p>Her body already ached to head for the bathhouse, if anything for the solitude she was guaranteed; yet during the lull of resetting the posts and paving the ground, Zoe glanced up from the mug of water proffered by her squire to see the swirling crimson and golden hair of the queen herself.</p>
      <p>"Ser Gregor," spoke the queen, and while Zoe frowned to notice it; there was almost too angular a jaunt to Cersei's step of which she was familiar. "Your presence at the capital will surely make the rounds of talk. A warrior of great skill, to be sure."</p>
      <p>Zoe knew all this; yet the way the queen spoke, and she a daughter of Lannister who surely knew of Gregor, it seemed more a boast to watchful eyes. The queen turned to Joss the squire who scarpered.</p>
      <p>"There is a knight worth disposing of," the queen's green eyes gleamed towards a boy whose armor shone and whose heraldry reminded Zoe of that anime with the cat. "I would count on your services, ser."</p>
      <p>Zoe frowned at the queen, whose measure of pride took a step back almost in fear. She set her helmet upon her head, and Joss hurried forth to prepare the horse. The queen was left without, her skirts swishing to join beside the king.</p>
      <p>Ser Hugh was announced, and so was she; the crowd rippled with excitement; no doubt, such a challenger would be pitiful, Zoe mused, and yet all for the entertainment. As she rode towards the king and bowed however much was practicable while mounted, she eyed the queen whose steadied complacency belied a fluttering of the fingers in her lap; the boy-prince who stared as if in doldrum; and golden-haired twins, except that the younger seemed almost a feminine copycat.</p>
      <p>The king, of course, irritably gestured that they should begin.</p>
      <p>As Zoe circled her horse to the start of the lists, she slammed down her visor and considered it too dangerous to joust the boy. He clearly had no skill, and Zoe did not want his blood on her hands.</p>
      <p>As she rode forth, she meandered the lance past him; and as she knew, as she was built for, and as only honor allowed when she was so big and he was not, his lance made her grunt as it busted into her shoulder.</p>
      <p>She took the hit well, but only because she was not a lesser man; and she reminded herself that it was no sin to defend, it was not <em>her</em> conditioned to be Gregor out of spite and cruelty, and yet the simulation had picked her to be so regardless. She needn't replace her three-dog cloak with one of martyrdom just yet; she could still <em>defend</em> herself, she wasn't quite infallible.</p>
      <p>And so she rode with an intent on her shield impacting Ser Hugh's lance; and when his knocked into her shield, he slipped in the stirrups of his horse, and went over and with a sickening crash landed on his back.</p>
      <p>Fury, fearful and casting the horse to the wind with a grunt - for in such the clamor she could not be sure - she busted the wooden barrier apart that would not permit her to duck under and knelt to the boy, as the crowd rose to glimpse more.</p>
      <p>The boy's neck was broken, and she tore off her helmet, and if she had not looked into his eyes she would have been able to summon some degree of reserve that countless slaughtering video games had inured her to. Yet it drew out in her the fibre of her soul to see the boy blankly staring ahead at blue that would never pass by under a sunny day, and her fists coiled.</p>
      <p>She glanced up to the queen whose fingers were coiled in the gold of her chain; who hurried across to whisper something to the boy-king. He already wore a frown, and his younger brother pushed off his seat beside his sister to earnestly join in the gathered whisperings.</p>
      <p>Zoe got the vague sense that the <em>last</em> thing Gregor could be expected to do was to show remorse.</p>
      <p>And so she stood, bowed briefly to the king who still wore his surprise like the cinched belt tucking his tummy in, and took to her horse as her squire managed to keep up all the way to the bath house.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam could not leave, much as he wanted to; the sight of Gregor crouching beside the boy made him wonder what Zoe was thinking when he had approached her, thinking only for the Mountain what a use he would be.</p>
      <p>And Zoe, the Mountain! Oh, but what a coup! She would be invaluable in the war to come.</p>
      <p>And yet, as he sat through the Hound and Jaime and Ser Loras in their victories, Adam learned that Gregor had quit the ranking, and hurried with skirts swirling to the inn where her guards had told her the Mountain was staying.</p>
      <p>The alehouse was packed with the murmur and glee of a hard worked day and a hard won tournament; ale splashed on wooden floors, the barkeep washing glasses, the serving girls but fodder, and eyes rising almost as one as Adam entered with Jaime by his side.</p>
      <p>The lusty look some hid behind quickly averted gazes warmed him; it always had, since he had begun as Cersei. And even knowledge of Jaime's warmth did not satisfy him so much as the thrill of being chased.</p>
      <p>"I'm looking for Ser Gregor," Adam spoke up, and the crowd parted to a table unoccupied by that most large of men, and she cut a path through to where food and drink were quickly procured; though Jaime abstained from the lesser fare and ensured their conversation was private.</p>
      <p>"So, you found me," Zoe flicked her eyes to Jaime, and Adam shook his head mutely in warning.</p>
      <p>Theirs was a coded exchange which Adam, an aspiring courtier, found more fun than Zoe who had always been blunt and grim to reality.</p>
      <p>"You rode well," Adam commented, hoping he was being discreet. "I heard that you're choosing not to continue in the tourney… "</p>
      <p>"Nope," Zoe finished her mug of water. "I'm done."</p>
      <p>The suddenness chilled Adam. "Done?"</p>
      <p>"Done," Zoe confirmed, and Jaime standing near did not restrain her patience. "That boy. Who was he?"</p>
      <p>"I dunno," Adam shrugged. "An obstacle."</p>
      <p>The chair screeched as Zoe rose and set it aside.</p>
      <p>"He was an <em>innocent</em>," Zoe leaned in. "This is no <em>game</em>."</p>
      <p>"But - " Adam glanced around, and Jaime was tense. "But you of all of us, you're fine with killing!"</p>
      <p>"Killing, yes," Zoe nodded, as the tavern subsided trying to overhear. Gregor towered over, an attraction; but his sword was too close within reach. "What else have I done? What else will I do?"</p>
      <p>"Well, I'm trying to keep things straight," Adam told Zoe, and Jaime frowned, trying to work all this out. "I mean; your reputation, Ser Gregor. <em>That's</em> what we need."</p>
      <p>"No," Zoe shook her head. "I'm not your brute for hire."</p>
      <p>Adam shook to see Zoe storm out; what would Lord Tywin think? He followed Zoe out into the streets, but the galloping of her horse kicked up dust.</p>
      <p>"Cersei," Jaime leaned in. "What was that all about? What has turned Gregor so… so light?"</p>
      <p>"What can she do," Adam murmured. "There's no life beyond the westerlands!"</p>
      <p>"He, you mean," Jaime frowned, and Adam nodded in agreement. "He would be a fool to leave Father's service. He would know no greater spoils of battle."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Clara drummed her fingers on the throne that only somewhat dwarfed that of the king and the queen's, and watched as the finalists were brought out to play.</p>
      <p>It had bothered her when Zoe had knelt to almost pray over the body; what did she think was happen? Was the male ego inflating her ability to think she was implacable? Jaime already had that particular red-blooded flaw.</p>
      <p>And so when Adam/Cersei had hurried by to mention that not only had Zoe quit the tournament - "boo-fucking hoo," Clara had sarcastically said, not caring either way - it did niggle her that Zoe had rode out of the capital, determined not to be their plaything.</p>
      <p>If Adam was worried, she prided herself on not being. But Gregor would be a valuable warrior, if not one of the most valuable in the Lannister arsenal. What else could she expect? Gregor's reputation would never be burnished with a halo around her head. Perhaps she felt free to flaunt a change in alignment through an intimidation that none would seek that she remain so barbarous…</p>
      <p>Except war was coming, Clara knew. And in the back of her mind, she <em>did</em> rely on Adam to pull the strings, however much she paraded about that she decidedly did <em>not</em> need Adam, and to make that clear in his presence. She had seen the show, but she could not remember <em>everything</em> that happened.</p>
      <p>The horns blew suddenly, and she startled to see the Hound riding against Jaime; Sandor she had come to grow fond of, and ever more so when Jaime was led off the field on a stretcher. She smiled at the brother Clegane and settled herself more comfortably.</p>
      <p>The last tilt was to be Sandor versus Loras, and <em>this</em> she knew to be certain. Clara rose from her throne, beckoned over Sandor and whispered some words in his ear. Baffled, then understanding shone; and grim resentment coupled with grudging admiration made him nod.</p>
      <p>This confounding little coupling of events caused a stir, but Clara figured so what. In a medieval society, if they dared call a recount; they'd lose more than a sack of potatoes, she'd make sure.</p>
      <p>Sandor wrestled the reins of his horse, and too blew the horns as he rode forth, lowering his lance, in what was an unsteady tilt until the Knight of Flowers unhorsed the Hound, and Clara was angrily on her feet as Loras was showered with attention and applause, and Sandor limped past the royal box and she thought, <em>How dare he?</em></p>
      <p>"What went wrong?" Clara demanded, thin-lipped, and surprising Sansa with this veritable storm of a mood. From afar, participants were soundly reminded of what had been a hidden well of sullen silence up until now; the jockiness for favor that had otherwise been confident to ramp up where arrogance and disdain were less predisposed to this boy-prince since Jon Arryn's death.</p>
      <p>Sandor glared at Clara. "You try riding a damn horse when the other's in heat."</p>
      <p>Clara turned away and resided into a low silence once more; and craved a closure to Zoe's curious ways; a letting off of steam that she wasn't sure whether or not was male ardor; and if Sandor would sulk in the bathhouse, then she would simply find one of the Kingsguard against whom to spar, to let all this anger out than railing on the pillows of her bedspread as she might otherwise do.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>"That's because you lose," Clara/Joffrey scorned, when Max lay flat on the ground.</p>
      <p>In what had been in hindsight not a good idea, Max had appreciated the chance to test his use of arms against his sister. And yet, she had clanged swords in the yard with Sandor more than he had learnt from Syrio.</p>
      <p>"Come off it," Max swore. "I'll do better than you!"</p>
      <p>"Not likely," Clara trailed the red and gold hem of her cape, and the buzzcut gave Joffrey more angular features present in a model.</p>
      <p>Max knew Syrio would castigate him; yet he didn't want to learn how to jump around like a ninja. Or to be honest, he wanted to learn it <em>now</em>, and also be a super warrior. He had seen Zoe/Gregor ride paces around Ser Hugh and yet cradle the dead body as though the two were related.</p>
      <p><em>He </em>should have been Gregor! Perhaps he wasn't as monstrous; but man, he'd cut a swathe through his enemies. Yet <em>Zoe</em> was Gregor, and he was some stinky little girl. Agreeably, if he put his mind to it, he would make a decent assassin. Syrio clearly ran rings around him. Yet he did not want to put in the practice.</p>
      <p>His sister's entitlement as Joffrey drove him crazy. He wanted to show <em>her</em>. And so he loped back to Syrio, who with a click of his teeth saw that he wore less cat scratches than expected; and a rebuff which reddened his face and saw his teeth form a grimace as he was ordered back to cat-catching.</p>
      <p>He ran through the streets, meeting beggars and stalls selling unsavory food in Flea Bottom; catching cats wasn't the hard part, it was maintaining the focus. Of course, Nymeria he had to keep in the kennels; so aggreving the master whose hounds only fretted and whined.</p>
      <p>Max caught soldiers emerging wide-grinned from brothels; bulbous fat men downing their food; castle soldiers drawing steel or notching arrows for wooden bullseye targets: all of which would be a distraction could he join in.</p>
      <p>But simply being denied capability of joining in did not mean he simply focus on what he <em>could</em> do. He was spirited like Joffrey, cunning like Ramsay, bullheaded like Robert in his prime.</p>
      <p>And yet to play a girl, well; he caught the sight of whores waving out the window as Littlefinger smirked and bade a client enter his joint; and sulked back off into Flea Bottom.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>"It's about time," Grace huffed, her vindication as a poor guest to share company with, accompanied with a smile as she joined Sansa and Myrcella in the latter's chambers for lemon cakes. "What were you guys doing?"</p>
      <p>Myrcella smiled sweetly. "Ser Arys told me you had a party without us."</p>
      <p>"Well," Grace idled, with the girls' attention on her. "Not really. It was just pretend."</p>
      <p>And though Myrcella was kind and gracious, and Sansa her northern twin; Grace wondered if it was her being a boy, or simply <em>too</em> clingy than would be expected of Tommen to form a resolute resolve of Myrcella to exclude her from events.</p>
      <p>Surely she was still practicable! She would find a way in Myrcella's graces, she knew it. And yet, she had tried for years with Clara, and perhaps there was a pattern there.</p>
      <p>"Ser Arys is handsome," Sansa smiled. "Of course, not so handsome as Joffrey."</p>
      <p>At this, Grace grimaced. Joffrey might not be the pouting, arrogant jerk he usually was; but indifferent, ruminating, plotting. She could never quite tell what Clara was thinking.</p>
      <p>"You will be my sister when you are married," Myrcella's eyes shone and took Sansa's hand in hers.</p>
      <p>Grace saw this and grew jealous. "And mine!"</p>
      <p>Their stares were a terrible affront; a reminder of being at birthday parties when she was little and not being part of the cool crowd. If only they would pay attention to her! She would not hunger for, or covet, that which they surely had an agenda to hold back from her in the first place.</p>
      <p>It was <em>conscious</em>, she was sure as they gabbed away and sprinkled cake crumbs on the carpet.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe saddled her great black horse outside; and if the owner of the tavern was surprised to see her, her offering gold for lodgings surprised him even more. He called for his wife and the ale was poured and stung her throat with a grimace.</p>
      <p>The townsfolk gathered here and there gave her sly looks; always of fear, but of rumination and babble which broke out upon her entrance.</p>
      <p><em>Perhaps they think me craven, </em>Zoe figured. But then so many people had stayed for the end of the tournament, and these surely occupying only whispers on the wind.</p>
      <p>She glanced up when the serving lady came near; she had been well advised to grant the Mountain's whims; but knew it wasn't ideal to proffer ale on the house to a man like him. The fear in her eyes, as always, churned Zoe's gut.</p>
      <p>"Is there any work?" Zoe inquired.</p>
      <p>"Work?" the serving lady was puzzled.</p>
      <p>"You know," Zoe preempted the satchel at her belt that was getting lighter. "For gold."</p>
      <p>"I daresay you'd do best to talk to my husband," she glanced over at the counter.</p>
      <p>And so Zoe got up and she about startled herself out of a tray of ale, and walked over to where the barkeep almost slipped a mug from his grip. The patron he had been serving, who formerly so enthusiastically had been railing on, took a step back when he saw who was coming near.</p>
      <p>"Your wife says there's work to be had," Zoe regretted how booming Gregor sounded; almost all the tavern turned, and could she have no privacy?</p>
      <p>"There is gossip, ser," the barkeep nodded nervously. "And from several sources. I could not bring it truth, but… "</p>
      <p>"Spit it out," Zoe reaffirmed, and tried a different tact. "I won't hurt you."</p>
      <p>This only made him tense. He replied: "It seems word is getting round that the Imp has been taken captive… by Lady Tully."</p>
      <p>"Stark," reminded his wife as she up near. Her confidence drew with his apron to hide behind. "Several saw it. Of course, he couldn't put up a fight."</p>
      <p>Zoe's silence only made her error all the more glaring. She covered her mouth.</p>
      <p>"O-of course, your lord - I mean - "</p>
      <p>Zoe held up a hand. "Where is he now?"</p>
      <p>"Winterfell, I'd expect," the barkeep betrayed a quaver in his voice, not quite settled. "They made it loud and clear."</p>
      <p>Zoe could not pretend to remember every little bit of the plot. Yet surely this was what would precipitate a war. She nodded and headed upstairs to her room, where only the creaking of wood from others walking by were the sounds she heard; that and low murmurs.</p>
      <p>It was damp and cloudy the next morning, and she fed her horse some oats before gentling it with a pat. It was only just coming round, she cursed; as she heard and saw riders, two on horseback who slung off their mounts, approaching her with some solidarity of authority, some agreement of camaraderie yet to be understood further.</p>
      <p>"Ser Gregor Clegane," half-bowed one, and his fellow took pursuit of the same formalities, however rushed. "I've been glad to catch you."</p>
      <p>Zoe almost wished he were to arrest her, for what; she wasn't sure. Yet by their tone she took the message in his hand and parted the wax seal with but a swipe and read the calligraphy in a familiar hand she had seen in Adam's exercise book at school, when he wanted to look 'fancy'.</p>
      <p>She crumpled the parchment, and the two men were aghast. She saw in clarity their light armor, the scabbards at their belts, and the lather on their horses.</p>
      <p>"S-ser," managed the other soldier. "It's not just the queen. It's Lord Tywin, ser. She told us - it's only a formality before he issues his own."</p>
      <p>"Screw them," Zoe slung her leg over her horse, the fear an icy shard in her heart that she resolved with fire-hot anger as she towered over the two. If she had to, she'd cut them down. "I'm not working for them any longer."</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam strode into the Hand's apartments beside the king; it wasn't as though he had anything better to do. Things were changing in the broad landscape of Westeros; he had heard the rumors, and knew it was time to begin laying plans into motion.</p>
      <p>This included play-acting as furious as Cersei would; to do less, would draw suspicion.</p>
      <p>Ned lay underneath his canopy of bed, his leg injured and the king despite his ire eyeing it with some concern. Adam felt vaguely out of alignment with the brotherhood the two had: was it so much to ask that he be joined in some friendship with someone else?</p>
      <p>Thank the <em>gods</em> he had Jaime; though with the clinginess he had so far exerted, Jaime had begun to find sparring an amiable practice. He was puzzled with the degree to which his Cersei now clung, and the secretive affair they knew they must carry out was one reason he stated for keeping his distance.</p>
      <p>"Your leg," Robert affirmed, with gruff, amiable silence. His breathing was steady.</p>
      <p>"I'll live," Ned cast his eyes to Adam, who tensed and whose mouth became a puckered sneer.</p>
      <p>"Is it true, then?" Adam raised an eyebrow. He did not need to feign some of the anger. "You attacked my brother?"</p>
      <p>"Quiet," Robert forced her to capitulate, sooner than even had begun the trance of words which would see Adam fit around the script; and he smouldered, if only to be told what to do by a disciplinarian. "Is that the way of it? Littlefinger says you came out of a brothel."</p>
      <p>Robert's chuckle was fit to make Cersei burst; Adam broadened his shoulders like a goose, and looked not unlike a wrong yoga pose.</p>
      <p>"He attacked my men, killed Jory - " Ned entreated.</p>
      <p>"Your wife will return Tyrion, by your order," Robert insisted. "Seven hells, we'll not have you pulling the lion's tail."</p>
      <p>"It's already pulled," Adam drew himself up. "My father - "</p>
      <p>"Your bloody father," Robert's glare, otherwise one used to from rewatches, was quite different in presence. It could not be said, Adam knew, that Robert's fat made him entirely lacking physically. He fumed and reddened and almost wept at the threat. Robert turned back to Ned.</p>
      <p>"You'll do it, I swear," the king raised a finger. "I'll not suffer division; not with the Targaryen girl threatening our shores."</p>
      <p>He chucked the pin on the bed, and Adam collected himself and swayed out, skirts swishing. He rather felt like the headmaster had chastened him and led him on a tour to show him his wrongs.</p>
      <p>Kingsguard ringed them in the corridors where Robert's breathing became heavier up each step; and when Adam moved for his own chambers, he became vastly aware that he was followed within.</p>
      <p>Robert towered before him; hairy, rank, breathing with his nostrils flared for a challenge; his beady eyes looking over Cersei, his lips forming an invite: "Well?"</p>
      <p>Adam shuddered not in disgust, but in fear. And with practiced subservience, let him enter and the door closed behind.</p>
      <p>If he had not the small experience in bed Jaime had leant him, Adam would have frozen like a deer and remembered for ever long the spidery touches and pain in the gut that would accompany such an encounter. But as Robert unbuckled his belt, unhesitating even through his surprise at her acquiescence; Adam's fingers went to the gown and slip underneath and saw the look in Robert's eyes.</p>
      <p>It was one of enough determination to break the siege of Storm's End, and Adam knew that though he might lay there and never know a greater pain; it was with some speed that he took the lead; he led Robert onto the bed, who with greater surprise took his stead.</p>
      <p>It could not be said that Robert expected the greatest of pleasures; he who only eyed Cersei as a redoubt worth claiming, and even as had been in the past, surely only smaller pleasures that he had been used to if Cersei was to pacify his ardor.</p>
      <p>Yet it was not Cersei; it was Adam in her place, and with fastidious need bound from knowing the alternative, did he hear the grunts and sighs and consider however inept his job correctly carried out.</p>
      <p>The snores which had followed the smell, texture, taste and sight were only a small burden; and if his friends were ever to wonder why he did not grimace and revolt, then they did not truly know him.</p>
      <p>For at just about any cost would he commit to another's pleasure, and earn their favor; and if such a transaction could proceed as smoothly as knowing the semantics, then time and again Adam was setting himself up for a long road of hurt when the simulation was said and done.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>"Is it true?" Clara asked Sandor, who if he had quite recovered from his grumpy mood from the tourney, she wouldn't know it. She beckoned to him from the wall where he stood; where she broke her fast. "Is it to be war?"</p>
      <p>"Aye," Sandor nodded, and irritated her that he would not elaborate.</p>
      <p>She cast a glance over to the king and queen; she was tight-lipped, as though holding a brave face. Her eyes schemed this way and that; alight with the methodical metronome of phasing out.</p>
      <p><em>Serves him right</em>, Clara decried. There was naught but hurt at allowing a man's ardor to spill over; and of all people, the king was perhaps the worst person to taunt. Perhaps Adam imagined Cersei would be so beautiful as to hold people at bay… and if so, then Adam knew nothing as a bystander from what he imagined for her life was a carefree strut through life.</p>
      <p>Of course, her mother had always never let her have boyfriends. Yet she knew too well the cost; the price was much to pay, and Adam was paying in kind. Perhaps he'd understand her plight, too.</p>
      <p>Clara broke a trencher of bread and glanced over to where Grace/Tommen sat with Myrcella; Sansa was praying in the sept, and she knew she should go join her.</p>
      <p>Yet this business of being Joffrey was tiring; simply to turn fate, she had paid visits to give gold out to the poor. They had only clawed over each other and hardly were about to spread the news that Joffrey was a chastened born-again.</p>
      <p>And so she rose and took Sandor with her out to where she could see Blackwater Bay, dull with ripples on the surface from what was a cloudy day. She needed no shade, at least; and wandered the parapets, wondering if Sandor or anyone else was yet still invigorated by Joffrey to push her off the edge.</p>
      <p>She took a flight of stairs, and the gathering tumult quite convinced her to join the throne room. The clamor was growing, and she saw Ned sitting the Iron Throne; he who had attacked her uncle, and who Joffrey would have considerable enmity with, as she cut a figure, walking through the assembled smallfolk to stand behind the throne.</p>
      <p>Ned looked at her as she imagined her real father would; one of his many moods or gazes, which she had never been blessed to know. Yet it was curt enough, the gaze he spoke volumes of that her presence was a kid trying to act like an adult; and she itched under his chastening.</p>
      <p>Varys offered his seat at the table, but she shook her head; and Littlefinger stroked his beard.</p>
      <p>"Please continue," Clara tried to act neutral, but with some misgivings did the smallfolk continue half his other sentence, and soon droned out while Sandor merely glanced about the room; his horrible burned face.</p>
      <p>"... burned our holdfasts, and took our women," moped the villager, or so Clara would make of his drabble, and she sparked into action. It came into clearer focus about what activity they were discussing.</p>
      <p>"Any arms? Sigil on their shields?" Ned proposed, and the villager shook his head.</p>
      <p>"Well-armored," guffed the man with some near-certainly. "Well-ordered and well-led."</p>
      <p>"And you cannot say whose men they are?" Petyr dared, and the villager shook his head.</p>
      <p>"Then I will send a party of men to help," Ned nodded, and beckoned forth Beric Dondarrion. "You will lead the contingent. If it were not you, it would be but for my leg that I would take charge…"</p>
      <p>"Lord Hand, I shall bring you justice," bowed Beric, and so he ventured forth.</p>
      <p>Clara's eyes glittered, and she said nothing.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max had been quiet when he had waited in his rooms to hear news of Ned - or his father, as he had come to know him as - and while the game of thrones was more serious than honor would allow, he had come to brew a quiet respect for a fatherly presence persisting in the face of danger, or of Max's flights of fancy.</p>
      <p>It was grudging, aching, hurting that Max was beginning to admit he held a shred of love for a father he'd never had.</p>
      <p>And so when he was permitted entry, he paid attention and listened to whatever drivel he spouted on about; rocked by the permanence with which Ned was sure to have wrapped his real children in.</p>
      <p>And it came slowly to Max that he <em>wanted</em> Ned to stay alive. He wasn't just a character. He was a very solid backing; a wallpaper against which Max's life might play out. He was the watchful eye as he took to the swing and who might scoop him up if he fell flat on his face.</p>
      <p>Rather than keep his hurt inside where it might lash out, Max could tell Robb was a boy raised well.</p>
      <p>And why wasn't <em>he</em> Robb?</p>
      <p>These thoughts led Max to understand that whatever scheme had been concocted by Adam/Cersei or Clara/Joffrey would have to stop. He would not permit the Starks to lose.</p>
      <p>His defining flaw in this instance was that he knew next to nothing of what would come.</p>
      <p>And so when Ned traipsed through the door, hale and hearty as one could be from listening to petitioners all day, it was not entirely to his liking the announcement that they were to return to Winterfell.</p>
      <p>Sansa's apprehension and outrage were understandable from her perspective, if Max had ever given a girl's point of view on events any broad thought. Yet for his own, Max would be saving his skin. To go back to Winterfell, he could help Robb in the good fight; but wouldn't it be better if he could remain, and save Ned? Wouldn't that make him the hero?</p>
      <p>Max crunched his eyes tight to remember; but it was no good. It was Adam, or Clara, who held nostalgia of the events to pass. He knew wide swathes, but could not articulate at what junctions might overlap or meet to form an event for a wholly Stark victory.</p>
      <p>And it was when Sansa began to panic that she'd never raise golden-haired babies, that Max remembered with a curl of a smirk that there <em>was</em> something he might intimate to Ned. With just enough subtlety, of course; Arya could hardly expect to know any more than that.</p>
      <p>And with Ned stirring on the cusp of an idea, Max began to think of one, too.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace felt abandoned in her chambers; and if Adam, Clara or Max had originally meant for her to be so excluded, then it had been other counterparts in their lives which had drawn them away.</p>
      <p>Ser Arys guarded the door, and Myrcella had long since made her excuses; even Sansa who fretted for her father's safety could not be persuaded to visit, and Grace began to long for the days when the capital wasn't so full of simmering chaos waiting to boil over.</p>
      <p>She had no part of play in this game of thrones, yet she must sit here and pout and pretend to be a boy not yet old enough to capably swing a sword or ride a horse. In that, she was in Max's predicament; yet where she would gladly cling to a family, there was not much of one here.</p>
      <p>The king paid her little mind, the queen was always in chambers with Jaime, and Clara treated her as Clara always did. Max chased cats and Zoe, it had been said, wanted nothing to do with any of them.</p>
      <p>Grace sighed and Ser Arys with a refrain almost felt sorry for the lad. He was so bumbling and full of life, and a little prince he was, and a good brother to Joffrey who would one day be king he would make, but there was nothing here for him that might enrich the veritable spirit he bought forth into the world.</p>
      <p>Grace wondered very much why she obeyed her friends the way she did; and thought she could never be a trendsetter; she'd be laying out the party food and stringing balloons while her mother spoke vague words about that her friends were busy. And they <em>weren't</em> her friends, Grace would say, they were people from her class who barely even knew her… and meeting new people would not be such a chore, her mother would cotton on; and Grace would rail and decry why Clara never spent much time with her.</p>
      <p>In that, she was to Clara what Adam was to Max. They were lambs, led through force of will for something better; they longed for obedience to be the tool with which to break into popularity.</p>
      <p>And they were left poolside with their inflatable arm tubes watching as the big kids lined up for the slide.</p>
      <p>"You know," Ser Arys began, breaking Grace out of her reverie. "If you like, we can go hunting for berries in the kingswood."</p>
      <p>Grace's was a hushed rapture. "Really?"</p>
      <p>Ser Arys nodded, liking the gleam and sudden thrall to which he was paid accustom. It was only fair that the boy had a chance to gad around.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe was spurred on at the sight of the inn coming into view, and stationed her horse at a post before entering. Hers was a silence she knew she would draw: yet the inn was not as packed as she expected, for such a location. The innkeeper, her teeth red shook and stammered to see Gregor towering over her.</p>
      <p>"Could I have a room, please?" Zoe tried brusquely, knowing the politeness would only make her more timid.</p>
      <p>The innkeep nodded, and led her to a room. She seemed almost to rock and tremor on the cusp of a truth she was unwilling to part with.</p>
      <p>"S-ser, if you must," the innkeep stumbled. "Please. Don't take my family."</p>
      <p>"I won't rob you," Zoe said, with a bite of impatience that only made the innkeep more scared.</p>
      <p>"Y-you don't know?" the innkeep wondered, and Zoe's attention perked up.</p>
      <p>"About what?"</p>
      <p>"About - about my lord of Lannister," the innkeep stammered.</p>
      <p>"Yes," Zoe began slowly. "He was captured."</p>
      <p>"A-at this inn," the innkeep nodded. "And by the gods, I did nothing to stop it; and now I wish I had."</p>
      <p>Zoe walked over with what she hoped was a calming stride; but the innkeep only wailed and those few patrons she held host to ducked further under their tables.</p>
      <p>"I'm not going to hurt you," Zoe reassured. "I'm not working for them anymore."</p>
      <p>"What?" this seemed almost to offend the innkeep, to insult her intelligence. She drew herself up, more wary that she was drawn into a trick.</p>
      <p>"If you don't mind… I'm going up to rest," Zoe found the stairs, and collapsed into a featherbed. It was a long time before she could close her eyes to sleep.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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    <p></p>
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam stared at himself a long time in the Myrish glass when he received the missive. It was with some comfort into simple cloth, a plain cape and boots that he snuck out into the godswood, and was received by the Hand of the King who sat on a log.</p>
      <p>The air was silent, pervasive. Adam lingered only that he felt comfortable of the exchange between them: of one thing he could count on, that Ned would not presume himself upon her.</p>
      <p>"You came," Ned glanced up, and Adam curled up on the grass, vaguely aware that he wanted to be an object of desire for surface reasons only.</p>
      <p>"So, what did you summon me for?" Adam squinted, preparing for a Shakespearean lingo of words with which to throttle Ned. It was far too easy only to play to the script.</p>
      <p>"I know the truth Jon Arryn died for," Ned spoke up.</p>
      <p>Adam watched Ned's face vaguely. He looked just like a father would.</p>
      <p>"Which is?" Adam shrugged.</p>
      <p>"He found out," Ned paused. "About you and Jaime."</p>
      <p>Adam's eyes drew bland and he told the truth. "The king has his way with me. It hurts."</p>
      <p>Ned remained still as a stone, and Adam did not need this to know that adults never took him seriously. <em>His</em> truth was flowery and better unspoken. If such had happened in real life, he'd be expected to sweep it under the carpet.</p>
      <p>And so Adam rose. "What power do you have over me, Ned Stark?"</p>
      <p>"I will tell Robert, when he returns," Ned gazed up at Adam. "You must gone before he returns."</p>
      <p>"That man <em>cost</em> me," Adam shook. He had no idea how Cersei had suffered it for so long. One's madness coils in the brain until, attacked from all sides by hot pincers, it unleashes like a fiery serpent gnashing with all the sweat pouring out of its body. "Jaime had my happiness and that brute soured it! I will never warm to a touch again!"</p>
      <p>Ned stood slowly, and fixed his gaze upon Adam. "You pushed my son from that tower."</p>
      <p>Adam shook his head less out of a desire to rid himself of guilt, but of that he expected nothing less.</p>
      <p>"I tell you the truth and you don't take me seriously!"</p>
      <p>Ned was puzzled at that, and Adam was fuming; it was <em>Ned</em> who left, and Adam shuddered that Jaime's touch alone would not renew him; he would forever know that brute's hands upon him, and his stomach roiled as though a cow pat was basting inside his gut.</p>
      <p>He clambered for the weirwood reigning paramount, twigs clattering and held onto it as though it were a lover docked at sea for harbor, and could leave any time.</p>
      <p>"Get me out of here," Adam whispered, shivering with the exultations that he might leave these memories behind. "Good god, get me out of here and deliver me from this farce. I can't lie - I can't lie - please take me out."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Clara rode alongside the king, as he and his party travelled through the kingswood in search of prey. The trees were a canopy of sunlight above; leaves crunched underneath their horses' hooves; and the heavy grunting of Robert was not soured by his weight, he enjoyed the closeness of a kill, that which was denied him in such physical constraints.</p>
      <p>Her horse bobbed along, and Clara bore in silence the burned face of the Hound; the clanking of Ser Barristan's white armor on its straps; the bored lament of Renly who was his brother in image of youth. Lancel hurried by with a wineskin, and Clara turned her gaze away in time.</p>
      <p>Robert was no father, she considered. He was fat and an oaf and a drunk. And though she considered Adam naive for his complicity, that did not venerate the king. He was an abuser, and rightly so that he should not see her eyes burn into his back. She would make him pay.</p>
      <p>The boar startled from the undergrowth and reared its tusks; Clara startled all of a sudden to hold her horse's reins, her glance to Sandor and he snorted; the king loped off his horse to wield the spear and bat off the boar, as Ser Barristan swung forth -</p>
      <p>"Leave him to me," Robert roared, and as he arched forth, the boar dug his tusks in, and with a cry, Robert froze and dug the spear the rest of the way through the boar.</p>
      <p>Clara spluttered tears; choked and reddened as Robert reddened and choked, she leapt off her horse with a cry as Sandor grabbed her round the middle, and Renly leapt forward with Ser Barristan to pry the king's hands from the spear, the boar spilling its guts; the silence but for the treetops.</p>
      <p>Clara knew no rigidity such as loss and grief; and her mouth open and closed as had been only one moment in her memory. That Robert had died as a father was tantamount to losing her own; and she tore against Sandor even as the others clambered to hoist him that they might return him to the castle at once.</p>
      <p>"Steady there," Sandor assisted her onto her horse, and Clara scratched at her eyes; stuttering heaving sobs "He won't die."</p>
      <p>The coarseness of his nature offended Clara. "Why not?"</p>
      <p>"He's a Baratheon," the Hound rasped, and nodded her onward. "They're bloody hard to kill."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max wound the dirk to his wrist with a wad of fabric, and pulled over a doublet and buttoned it smart. He took the stairs from the Tower of the Hand, and made his way across to Maegor's Holdfast, where guards at the door frowned.</p>
      <p>"Who're you here to see?" spoke one, in clanking mail, scabbard on his belt and his hand held loosely on the hilt, in studied nonchalance.</p>
      <p>"Prince Tommen," Max found himself saying, but the guard frowned.</p>
      <p>"The little prince and Ser Arys went hunting in the kingswood," he snickered, to his pal. "Isn't that right?"</p>
      <p>Max fumed that they should laugh. "Then I'll go see Myrcella."</p>
      <p>"<em>Princess</em> Myrcella's in the sept with the Lady Sansa," the other guard raised his eyebrow. "Anyone else?"</p>
      <p>"Yes," Max figured the truth couldn't hurt. "I'd like to see the queen."</p>
      <p>And so Max was waved through, and he took to the steps two at a time; and his footsteps were his own apart from the patrolling guard; a boy carrying an overflowing chamber pot, and a servant changing the rushes in Grace/Tommen's room. Max caught the servant's gaze and quickly moved on, heart thudding.</p>
      <p><em>Quiet like a water snake</em>, Max told himself, though he could build up the mantra to still his fear. He was only a young girl, after all. And if anyone could see through him other than Clara, it'd be Adam.</p>
      <p>He came to the queen's apartments, where Ser Mandon stood posted; his eyes were oddly lifeless, and flicked over Max when he came near.</p>
      <p>"I want to see the queen," Max's voice came out in a squeak.</p>
      <p>Ser Mandon only stared for a moment longer; and knocked on the door with his fist a hammering couple of times.</p>
      <p>"Your Grace," Ser Mandon spoke without inflection. "The Lord Stark's daughter."</p>
      <p>"Sansa?" came the curious voice from within; and the door cracked open to reveal Cersei; if Max hadn't known it was Adam, he would already be randy from the promise of her heat. "Oh, the young Lady Arya."</p>
      <p>Max rolled his eyes; Adam was never more pompous when trying to speak like a courtier. Yet the hammering of his heart continued as the queen bade he enter and the door closed stalwart behind.</p>
      <p>The chamber was mesmerizing; certainly better than the rooms he shared with Sansa. There was particular care given to the lion sigil, crimson fabrics and gold ornaments; books strewn that not Cersei but Adam would have actually read; jewellery laid out and the promise of a gown over a chair.</p>
      <p>Adam sure was living his best life, Max figured. A mook in the skin of a long-haired seductress.</p>
      <p>"Robert's gone on his hunt," the queen explained, as though she were giving a speech. "Clara - Joffrey's gone with him. I suppose I should be more careful."</p>
      <p>"Why?" Max shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed. He carefully folded his arms. "It's only me."</p>
      <p>Adam shrugged. "I hope I'm up for it."</p>
      <p>"Up for what?" Max cocked his head.</p>
      <p>Adam gestured out the window, where the Seven Kingdoms lay. "This! All this. I don't know. Sometimes I don't know how much I don't know."</p>
      <p>Max was older than Arya but even then too young to begin soul searching. Adam fretted and his fingers darted in his lap and his glance remained out the balcony. Max was no <em>Robert</em> to go rushing in; and waited for the queen to pour some wine.</p>
      <p>"I don't usually drink, but it's good," the queen savored the taste. She turned to Max. "And are you ready?"</p>
      <p>"Yep," Max said, as quick as a spit. The queen gestured with her arms as she spoke; free to be limber and demonstrative without refrain, it came with the territory. It came with the body.</p>
      <p>"Of course we'll have to keep you here until suspicion dies down," Adam muttered, his eyes clenched shut with trying to remember everything. "It's Sansa that's the Stark jewel. Arya's just a hostage - but of course, you'll be glad for one thing."</p>
      <p>"What's that?" Max eyed him like an owl, feathers ruffled and irises widening.</p>
      <p>"God help me if you run off like Arya," the queen chuckled. "You'll survive it, no doubt; but there's Ramsay to consider."</p>
      <p>Max gulped. He had not too genially liked the scenes of mutilation in the dungeon chamber.</p>
      <p>"What about Ramsay?" Max asked, annoyed that his determination had begun to flag.</p>
      <p>"Well," the queen shrugged, and with a little shake reminded herself who she was talking to. "If you were to be captured by Roose, then in time, he would seek to wed you to his son to shore up Winterfell."</p>
      <p>Max shook at that. The idea of being Ramsay's plaything - and he was ever more disgusted to hear Adam's recollections of something about dogs and and on the wedding night. He tore his gaze away, too horrified to consider.</p>
      <p>"This land is brutal," the queen gathered her furs. "That's why I have to continue. I have to continue no matter what… "</p>
      <p>Max thought that there would be no one so bound to protect him as Adam. Foppish and sycophantic he might be; but wrested out of the capital, while he might enjoy the life of a ruffian; as a girl, he would be fodder for every man with a certain pair of eyes. And he could not stomach receiving that which in his fantasies he himself was so keen to give.</p>
      <p>"Fuck," Max got to his feet and stormed out, and the queen called after him with surprise but to no avail.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>The kingswood was alight with merriment; and even if it was shared only by Grace who smiled up at Ser Arys and he who nodded back, the woven paths and wriggling ants in dirt and scrub scattered like treasure were something to make the heart beat a little faster. A half dozen guards picked their way through on their heels.</p>
      <p>It was not usually her type of fun: Myrcella and Sansa might prefer more highbrow affairs, but Grace <em>had</em> grown up on a farm after all; and so to hear the birds and spy rabbits pointed out by Arys and a deer loping, cantering, a dot in the bushes by the time she saw it, it was a relief to breathe fresh air and be at one with nature.</p>
      <p>She closed her eyes and took in the measure of her wellness: she wished she could be back with her friends, for time to stand still and for events never to have parted them; and yet, as she heard footsteps, she didn't quite think that her wish had come true.</p>
      <p>Horses and men drove a path as Grace took to one side, Ser Arys by her side, and the soldiers who watched, open mouthed as Robert lay bloodied and unconscious. Renly was blood-splattered; Ser Barristan's white armor was red, and Clara rode up, red-eyed and shaking as she caught sight of Grace standing with her guard.</p>
      <p>"What are <em>you </em>doing here?" Clara scathed, and Grace took a step back at the vehemence.</p>
      <p>"What's going on?" Grace whispered, and Clara gestured to the horse leading the charge with the king loosely hanging from behind.</p>
      <p>She sadly glanced up at Ser Arys and mournfully traipsed back to the castle with his sword clanking by his side.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe continued up the kingsroad, and found the rushing banks of the Trident a soothing calm for the nerves which beset her anxiety. The riverlands were beautiful enough, and she loved the solitary life; but she would need gold to continue, and soon enough, she came upon the sight of two castles joined by a bridge across the rushing waters below. Rain clouds had begun to gather.</p>
      <p>She cantered up to the gates, met by weaselly outriders bearing sigils of twin towers, and they met her with some harried and studied deference. Theirs was an escort, an honor guard almost pointless as Zoe rode across the drawbridge, threw her reins to a servant and gladly came into the warmth.</p>
      <p>"Lord Walder is resting, ser," nodded one of her greeting party. "Please help yourself to mead and food."</p>
      <p>If not out of fear than simply for good hospitality, Zoe was glad to be permitted of such. And she was served bread and salt and the soldiers watched her like she was the first rat carrying the plague, and ate in silence though a larger crowd came to collect on the eaves of her peripheral, and she had since become used to the whispers.</p>
      <p>A grey-haired man who held himself erect with some pride approached her table with a little bow. Zoe scuppered the trencher and rose.</p>
      <p>"Lord Walder," she bowed, and her recipient knew not how to begin.</p>
      <p>"My father is honored to have you under his roof," the man continued, after a start, and turned to a nearby retainer. "Isn't that correct, Perwyn?"</p>
      <p>"Yes, Ser Stevron," Perwyn sniffed and wiped his nose; and the tumult of rain continued to hail above their volume.</p>
      <p>"Apologies," Zoe muttered, and their awe was hidden by blank, blandly pale faces.</p>
      <p>Ser Stevron took a seat, and Zoe aped him.</p>
      <p>"Is it news of our lord of Lannister which brings you north, ser?" Ser Stevron queried.</p>
      <p>"No," replied Zoe. "I'm looking for work."</p>
      <p>Ser Stevron raised an eye. "Lord Tywin has since written to my father, yet we have not seen any sight of his son… surely he will have enlisted you to find him?"</p>
      <p>Zoe tensed. "But I'm not with him anymore."</p>
      <p>Ser Stevron frowned ponderously. Zoe's hackles were raised, and he beckoned to a servant.</p>
      <p>"More food and ale for our guest. I'll have a room prepared for your stay."</p>
      <p>"My thanks," Zoe added, and faced boldly the glittering gallery of weasel eyes muttering until she dispersed them with her gaze.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam watched as the king was brought onto his bed. Servants hurried for his dressings; the chamber quickly became putrid and foul-smelling. She shook her head as Renly suggested the worse was yet to come when the wound was revealed.</p>
      <p>It was a gaping maw of flesh and blood and bone. And Adam fixed the king in the eye and retched; the chamber pot in the privy provided adequate a vessel for shuddering tidings.</p>
      <p>He drew up his pride and returned into the chamber where the Grand Maester ponderously, achingly, checked over the king. His beady eyes were lost in some haze; Ser Barristan was as white as his splattered armor; Renly fidgeted with the hilt of his sword.</p>
      <p>The clanking of the cane announced Ned Stark's arrival; he gave but a glance to Adam who raised his head like a lioness, and Ned was bade nearer to the king's side who chuckled and made mention of the boar to be served at his feast.</p>
      <p><em>A feast you won't attend</em>, Adam promised, his green eyes upon the dying man. Underneath the folds of fat were stubby fingers which pierced like a knife. He would never know true warmth again.</p>
      <p>"Out," Robert ordered, and Adam shook at the might. He had always cowered under volume. "Out, all of you!"</p>
      <p>And so Adam's skirts swished alone; Renly and Barristan and the Grand Maester who would be the last to close the door, and so hope to eavesdrop however little. Adam took to the corridors with Ser Boros by his side.</p>
      <p>How he missed Jaime… and soon, he would be free to conduct his own affairs. Yet he knew it may be quite a while before he saw that golden mop of hair again, in quite some distant state of disarray.</p>
      <p>He stopped near Clara/Joffrey's rooms, where Sandor stood guard.</p>
      <p>"Is - is my son in?" Adam asked, and Sandor begrudged a nod and opened the door.</p>
      <p>Clara's angular hair cut sharp with a razor made Joffrey look more fierce. She glanced up as Adam entered, and the door was closed behind them.</p>
      <p>"The king… you were there?" Adam asked.</p>
      <p>"Yes," Clara replied. "And I don't want to talk about it."</p>
      <p>Adam hesitated. He was never one for silence; as Clara and Max knew on long car trips. Clara's mother had had to stop the car to tell Adam to shut up; and so he did.</p>
      <p>And god, how he <em>hated</em> people telling him what to do.</p>
      <p>"You're not feeling guilty?" Adam queried, and Clara remained silent.</p>
      <p>"Go away," Clara glanced to the door, and Adam found it.</p>
      <p>Outside in the corridor, Adam saw Myrcella's rooms were empty; the guard stationed at her door told her the princess was praying in the sept. Further along were Grace/Tommen's rooms. Ser Arys greeted the queen with a bow.</p>
      <p>"Thank <em>god</em>," Grace exclaimed, a vision as a golden-haired boy with long curls; Adam thought that Tommen had always been his favorite of Cersei's children.</p>
      <p>Adam bent down to hug Grace, and she extricated herself with big eyes.</p>
      <p>"What's going to happen now?"</p>
      <p>Adam rose and adjusted his skirts and settled on a chair. He looked around for wine, and Grace focused on him as she did most big kids.</p>
      <p>"I don't know," Adam fretted.</p>
      <p>"But you know this show, right?" Grace asked.</p>
      <p>Adam shook his head. "It's not just a show. It's a book, as well."</p>
      <p>"Well, are we gonna be OK?" Grace asked her brother.</p>
      <p>Adam shrugged, and laid his face in his hands. He glanced up, skin greasy from fingertips, hair mildly askew. He took a staggering, deep breath.</p>
      <p>"It's dawning on me now how much I have to keep on top of," he admitted. "And how easily it could slip out of my hands."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>"Are you finished?" Clara snapped, and almost ripped the sleeve of her doublet from the shuddering grip of a servant.</p>
      <p>She buckled and buttoned and turned on her heel, out from her chambers into the corridors of Maegor's Holdfast; the Hound took the lead along with several Kingsguard forming an escort. Myrcella and Grace/Tommen stood outside their chambers with a Kingsguard apiece; Myrcella was bravely red-eyed and drawing up her height, while Grace/Tommen smiled sadly.</p>
      <p>At the far end of the corridor, Clara saw Adam/Cersei standing with Ser Barristan.</p>
      <p>"Are you ready?" the queen turned to Clara, who merely nodded, and the royal party headed down the circular stone stairs.</p>
      <p>Clara entered the throne room, where along the walls were gold cloaks; behind the Iron Throne were Lannister guardsmen. She ascended the throne with some difficulty; swords stabbed up at her if she were careless. Yet she sat however uncomfortably as though watching a soccer match with the rest of her class.</p>
      <p>The queen sat on a lesser throne, her other children close by; Ser Barristan headed the escort of Kingsguard arrayed in a protective screen. Only Sandor stood beside Clara.</p>
      <p>Theirs was but a silence and a wait; no doubt Ned would take his time on his cane.</p>
      <p>"Sandor," Clara slid her eyes up to the Hound, who leaned over without keeping his eyes from the door. "There was a raven from my grandfather."</p>
      <p>Sandor grunted, but did not show any intimation of caring. The queen stood idly by and watched.</p>
      <p>"Your brother has turned against the Lannister name," Clara told him. "His lands and title are yours."</p>
      <p>Sandor accompanied this with the briefest of surprise, and hesitation. He nodded and continued to watch the door. Clara heard the rustles of silks from the queen; clearly she wanted to elaborate further, to be the bearer of good tidings, as only a sycophant lusted for.</p>
      <p>"You are to be congratulated, ser," the queen simpered.</p>
      <p>"I'm no knight," Sandor rasped.</p>
      <p>"You are now," the queen advised. "And to good duty and honor may it bestow you."</p>
      <p>Clara rolled her eyes, and the room stilled and tensed as the door opened; Adam made an unhurried gait to the lesser throne, and Sandor readied his sword arm.</p>
      <p>Ned Stark made his entrance, with a handful of northern men notably more scruffy than the Lannister contingent; Varys simpered by with his hands tucked in his robes; Littlefinger's gaze swept over the room and hid a little smirk as he bent himself into a posture.</p>
      <p>Ned stood before the Iron Throne and glanced up at Clara, who watched dourly from above.</p>
      <p>"Ned Stark," she announced. "How good of you to join us. Today, from you and from others, I will accept oaths of fealty."</p>
      <p>Ned retrieved a slip of parchment, and nodded that Ser Barristan might come forth. The seal was unbroken; read out as king Robert's, and among trivialities, it was declared,</p>
      <p>"... that Lord Eddard Stark serve as Regent, until the heir do come of age."</p>
      <p>The rustle of silks passed by Clara before she could think of an adequate response.</p>
      <p>"Ser Barristan, if you would be so kind," the queen extended her hand. "Of course, no one doubts your sworn word."</p>
      <p>Even Ser Barristan raised an eyebrow. The queen mulled over the contents, and glanced to Ned.</p>
      <p>"What good is this? King Robert is dead. Such cannot be binding if he is no longer with us."</p>
      <p>Clara rolled her eyes. <em>That's why it's called a will, you idiot</em>.</p>
      <p>"As my son was saying," the queen placed a hand on one of the swords of the throne, and her lips tightened to conceal her crimson hand, shaking by her side. "H-he will now accept obeisance from the realm. My lord, you need only bend the knee."</p>
      <p>"Your son is not Robert's heir," Ned called out, and Grace/Tommen gasped as though watching a soap opera from when she would pretend to be sick to get a day off from school. "Nor any of your children - "</p>
      <p>Ned's northmen warily eyed the crowd who gasped.</p>
      <p>" - Stannis is the true heir," Ned finished.</p>
      <p>Clara raised a finger. "Ser Barristan Selmy, and the loyal men of my Kingsguard; take him to the cells."</p>
      <p>Northmen ringed Ned; Ser Barristan stepped forth, and the Lannister soldiers drew their swords. Grace grabbed for Ser Arys' hand; painfully polite to merely shrug off the royal prince.</p>
      <p>"Do not harm Ser Barristan," Ned called, the scuffle halting; and turned his head. "Janos, take the queen and her children into custody. I will have no bloodshed!"</p>
      <p>Clara raised an eyebrow; the queen wore a grimace of disgust. At once the tide broke, and swung inward as did the spears of the gold cloaks; theirs was a massacre of the Stark soldiers, and Ned who swung around on his injured leg.</p>
      <p>Sandor drew his sword; Ser Arys tugged Grace/Tommen from his side; the queen watched with satisfied silence; and Littlefinger leaped for Ned's throat with a dagger and a rebuke.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max tossed this way and that; and when Syrio's beatings were enough to throb his body, he still did not give up.</p>
      <p>Yet the time was nigh, he knew; and so he bowed out of the race, and Syrio clicked his teeth at that.</p>
      <p>"A boy will learn nothing," he observed, and Max watched him plainly. He did not know the fate he would suffer.</p>
      <p>And so Max turned tail, knowing his trade as an apprentice assassin was at an end; he took to the corridors, and found his and Sansa's chambers where Nymeria looked up from his entering. He gave her a quick pat, stuffed Needle under his mattress and checked his wounds, alerting to hear the scuffle of footsteps; of raised voices; and finally a booming knock on the door.</p>
      <p>Max was no craven; but he was a little girl, and his earlier beatings from Syrio had reminded him he was no master water dancer.</p>
      <p>Ser Meryn entered, followed by Lannister guards; he sized Max up, and his hand rested on his sword hilt.</p>
      <p>"The queen regent, and the king, request your presence," Ser Meryn barked, as flowery words as he would ever utter.</p>
      <p><em>At least they're not so stupid as to say my father's ordered it</em>, Max figured Adam had made this order a kind of code, and so came along, as meek as he'd ever be -</p>
      <p>The leap and flash of fur, the bark and tearing of teeth and he was pulling back Nymeria with haste; one of the soldiers was on the floor, and others drew their swords and Max was held back, wide-eyed, fear stilling his nerves as his direwolf's moans were silenced with the thrust cut of a blade.</p>
      <p>"You fuckers!" Max launched his fists on the armor of Ser Meryn, and he chuckled and the soldiers fell upon Max to restrain him, which was no difficult deed.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace had been sent back to her chambers with Ser Arys; Myrcella came along with her own guard. The two parted ways, their rooms but next to each other; and Ser Arys shook his head when Grace invited him inside.</p>
      <p>"The castle's thick of fighting, lad," he closed the door and Grace snapped her mouth shut.</p>
      <p>She glanced around in despair, and went for the small balcony where she could hear what was happening but see less of it. Adam would be well-organised, and Clara not about to let her new crown slip; but what of Max? He was a Stark girl. She hoped he would be OK.</p>
      <p>Grace blinked tears, out of confusion and fear; nobody had thought to tell her what would happen in the throne room. She hadn't even seen the show, but for sitting beside Clara and trying to ask her questions about other things, and being rebuffed and sitting in morose silence.</p>
      <p>She hated being left out; it was all her fears in one.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>"You'd not be wanting to head to Seagard," offered Ser Stevron, a piece of advice.</p>
      <p>"Why not?" Zoe frowned.</p>
      <p>Ser Stevron glanced around the hall; servants were cleaning up, Freys were dotted about. The sliver of steel began in their scabbards and in the racks and of the flash of eyes for ravens flocking north.</p>
      <p>"There's fighting," he began in a low voice. "The lions are treading lightly before gearing up for a hunt."</p>
      <p>"Hunting who?" Zoe specified.</p>
      <p>Ser Stevron, exasperated, erupted: "Tullys, of course! By the gods, in revenge for lord Tyrion's capture."</p>
      <p>Zoe shook her head. "He can't take over <em>all</em> the riverlands."</p>
      <p>"Lord Tywin will," Ser Stevron nodded, to what was her distaste. "If he has any breath left in his body."</p>
      <p>Zoe turned away and flexed her sword arm. There was nothing she'd like more than to show her overlord some justice. It seemed Adam, Clara, even Grace had picked the winning side after all.</p>
      <p>She'd show them, she wagered. She'd show them what it meant to fight with honor. To fight on the <em>right</em> side of history, and be proven right. For this was one escapade she could prove her worth in.</p>
      <p>"Then I won't go south," Zoe decided.</p>
      <p>And so Zoe saddled her horse and rode out into the drenching rain; the clatter of her horse's hooves upon the drawbridge and out onto the kingsroad; dotted with little homes here and there, and the Trident fed by the heavens and the waves slopped and greedily hungered for more.</p>
      <p>For the few travellers she met riding north - and there were few and far between - their curiosity was eschewed by the sight of Zoe on her rearing red-eyed horse, and rain be damned!</p>
      <p>She rode until her horse was lathered of the mouth, for shelter at least for the poor thing. Zoe felt the rain drench her soul and coughed and sniffed as the bare grassland, thin trees and what seemed like an unending stretch of road finally ended.</p>
      <p>She came upon the bog-land; suckered holes and poisonous flowers and quicksand, with the narrowest of roads which her horse whickered at. Above, rose in discordant time three towers where bowmen peeked out from arrow slits, and called out and blew horns and she stilled with fear.</p>
      <p>"Halt!" came the breath of voice that seemed to come from far away.</p>
      <p>The bowmen got more in place from one tower than the others slightly further away. Torches raised, and Zoe raised the visor of her helm and met the god's embrace. She blinked water and saw only movement; threatening movement, and her station permitted but one soldier to beckon her close.</p>
      <p>She rode slowly, and felt for the poor creature so drenched; she could see clearly the sigil of a mailed fist.</p>
      <p>The archer who bent from the window, echoing his voice across the sparse wasteland, hallooed:</p>
      <p>"You are a stranger in these lands. What say you?"</p>
      <p>Zoe rode closer, and theirs was a shock and a grimace. Bows notched with arrows were drawn taut, and some raised to aim.</p>
      <p>"Hold fire," ordered the archer, raising his hand. "Ser. Are you not the Mountain?"</p>
      <p>"I am," Zoe called out, over the pounding rain. "I come alone."</p>
      <p>She hated that they had to talk amongst themselves first. He poked his head out once more.</p>
      <p>"And what business are you to treat for?" the archer yelled.</p>
      <p>"Let me inside and we can talk," Zoe called, and earned some pitiful laughter for that.</p>
      <p>The rain pelted her horse and she steadied it with a hand and dismounted, leading her horse by the rein. The archers tightened their bows.</p>
      <p>"Halt!" their commander cried, and Zoe looked up where she could see the flicker of a torch sconce, high up in the arrow slit.</p>
      <p>"I mean no harm," Zoe cried. "Only safe passage onward."</p>
      <p>"Onward where?" the commander scrutinised.</p>
      <p>Zoe spat out a burble of spit mixed with rain. "To the Starks."</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
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    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam sat at the head of the table in the council chamber; Petyr, Varys and Littlefinger had been quick to vie positions. Yet their discussions were at an end when the door opened to permit Ser Boros leading in -</p>
      <p>"Sansa," Adam smiled, and beckoned she sit closest. The advisors moved down a rank.</p>
      <p>"What have I done wrong, Your Grace?" Sansa stared.</p>
      <p>"It's your father," Adam summoned reserves of energy for speaking with a teenage girl. "You see, our association with the Starks must be at an end."</p>
      <p>"Why?" Sansa moaned, and Adam frowned.</p>
      <p>"Your father, of course," he prodded. "It cannot be said for my son to wed the daughter of a traitor."</p>
      <p>"No - no," Sansa glanced around the table, and found an ally in Petyr's look. "Please! He didn't know what he was doing… "</p>
      <p>"Then you must write," Adam nodded and Pycelle produced the parchment and quill, however at an aching pace. "To your mother, your brother - all who would be pleased to hear how well you are treated, and how well the king's justice would sit on their shoulders."</p>
      <p>Varys kept his lips pressed together. Petyr was too much in a gaze of Sansa. Pycelle, doddering, his chains of office clanking, watched Sansa with a phlegm of spit and distaste.</p>
      <p>"Well?" Adam glanced to his advisers, who by now knew he did not like to be interrupted.</p>
      <p>"Your Grace," Varys took the initiative. "She is a sweet thing, but… "</p>
      <p>" - only a girl," Littlefinger took the handle. "And you, surely Your Grace, you know she will follow your lead, whatever you say. The girl respects you."</p>
      <p>Adam kept his face wilfully bland. "Grand Maester?"</p>
      <p>"She is born of treason and will die of treason," he railed. "Nothing will permit to get the stench out. It is as Jon Arryn said, may the gods give him rest. The seed is strong!"</p>
      <p>Adam held up a hand, and a withering gaze.</p>
      <p>Sansa turned to the queen. "So, you'll free him?"</p>
      <p>Adam pushed forth the quill and inkpot. "You must write, and the king will consider your case."</p>
      <p>"But - " Sansa paused. "If I could just see - "</p>
      <p>"The king - " Adam interrupted, with a flaring of the nostrils, a raising of the eyebrows, and a churlish glance shared between Varys and Littlefinger that they had quickly come to expect of the queen. Adam smiled sweetly, and his belly was coiled like a serpent. " - the king will consider your case in good time."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>"How do you feel, <em>ser</em>?" Clara smiled, up at the Hound.</p>
      <p>"Stop that," the Hound rasped, and Clara walked along the castle wall, the parapets and stationed guard and towers with bundles of arrows and torch sconces in the shine of the day.</p>
      <p>Theirs was a silent walk, until the Hound interrupted her musings,</p>
      <p>"It's me who should be asking you."</p>
      <p>Clara frowned up at him. "Why?"</p>
      <p>"For your father," the Hound reminded her, and she became solemn. "Yeah, that's right. Forgot about him already, didn't you?"</p>
      <p>Clara watched the Blackwater sparkle and glow. The kingswood stretched achingly beyond. On the horizon, a blanket of water so thick as to drown herself in, and twist and wrap around like a cape if she were an emerging giant from the subterranean.</p>
      <p>"It's Your Grace, to you," Clara nocked him down a peg.</p>
      <p>"You're a little shit," the Hound rasped, and Clara only laughed.</p>
      <p>The clouds hid the sun such that Clara gave a little shiver; she adjusted her robe that was emblazoned with both Lannister crimson and Baratheon black.</p>
      <p>"And what of Sansa?" Clara eyed him, and his face changed not a bit. He continued walking and she kept up.</p>
      <p>"What about her?" Sandor asked.</p>
      <p>"Plucked from the north," Clara rolled her eyes. "Perhaps she's too pretty for me."</p>
      <p>Sandor continued walking, and Clara tried her luck. She paused to waited for him to turn around.</p>
      <p>"Perhaps she's pretty enough for you?"</p>
      <p>Clara watched the burnt, scarred side of his face move a jolt. He turned towards the spiral staircase. Their descent was their footsteps alone.</p>
      <p>"I've got Littlefinger's brothels for that," the Hound remarked.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max glanced up at the door in the chambers of Maegor's Holdfast where he was kept; behind which, he heard scurrying and footsteps and coughing from the Lannister guards flanking the doors.</p>
      <p>Otherwise, he buried an immense fury; the room was not without ornamentation, but his stomach was seized and pulling apart at the seams.</p>
      <p>Nymeria, that companion so steadfast; an innocent, and how was she to know Max wasn't truly in danger? How to tell her that yes, the Lannisters were enemy; but not <em>these</em> Lannisters, not right now…</p>
      <p>Max felt shuddering, puking grief; he vomited up the contents in his chamber pot, and hated how raw he felt afterwards. He lay in bed, provided of food and drink, but he could not see Sansa, he could not see Ned, he almost even wished he could see <em>Grace</em>…</p>
      <p>Yet the ajar window he stood on a table for was too small to climb out of, and would end in his spirited release to the gods if he tried. The fall was immense to see the layout of the Red Keep's courtyard; gold cloaks and Lannister soldiers, but none of Robert's.</p>
      <p>That king was slowly being erased; his mark like a stain. Of course, his sigil still hung, his presence still felt; but the influence was of the lion, curling up upon the rug and yawning; content.</p>
      <p>He almost wished he had scarpered; what had happened to his friend, Syrio Forel? Surely the two would have been able to make a fantastic adventure together. But then, Arya hadn't been able to convince him, from what he remembered…</p>
      <p>It made him sad to think some deaths could have been avoided; and then he was reminded of one that would at least could be. At least, he hoped, that would be if Adam could keep his word; and Clara, too.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace could count her blessings that at least <em>she</em> was permitted passage around the castle; yet with Ser Arys and a score of guards, she could tell they were not best pleased solely to escort the little prince around. War was coming, she had overheard them talking while she had been getting dressed by servants; they lusted for battle, and wished they had gone with Ser Jaime, who was said to have ridden to Casterly Rock, to command one of his father's armies.</p>
      <p>Grace shivered; she wanted nothing of battle! She hoped it wouldn't touch here.</p>
      <p>The ramifications of Ned's arrest did not last long with her. From her eye, the man had tried to decry Clara and take down Adam, too. She hoped they were alright; when she went knocking on their doors like trick-or-treat, she heard only a hollow silence.</p>
      <p>The yard was full of sparring men, and Grace's guard gave them a passing glance. She caught Ser Arys' fond smile and beamed; she looked forward to the gate which permitted passage further into the city.</p>
      <p>"No further, my prince," Ser Arys warned. "Our orders are to keep you safe."</p>
      <p>"I wish we were back in the kingswood, I had lots of fun," Grace despaired, and to remember that of the king's body being trailed out. She hated blood, she hated bodies and she hated death.</p>
      <p>All of this was a tumult to her; and Ser Arys nodded her back to the Red Keep, her thoughts all of a boil.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>The steady drip of the rain had long since petered off; the drizzle had accumulated and left its stain on the kingsroad; half sunk into the unsteady gait any traveler would hope to cross. The wintry land was a haze; yet footfalls and booms heralded the crescent: a semicircle growing larger on the horizon, thinning in a line as studied as ants.</p>
      <p>Zoe watched from the window as the northerners made good their approach.</p>
      <p>Hers was a tower where the fire measly lept from cinder to ash and she rubbed her hands to get warm. A pail near full did not need to remind her of the swarthy beard which itched; the rank smell of her sodden clothes; oh, how she longed for a bath. Her greatsword leaned against the wall opposite, which was to say in the small accommodations there could be no word of having a guard posted on her door.</p>
      <p>They had since taken her horse, she knew; and should she slay the bowmen of the fortifications, she would meet in kind a force greater than any wroth contrived in her mind.</p>
      <p>The footfalls were heavier, the voices greater, the tumult turning and churning a whirl in her gut. She was big and monstrous and ugly. And she had never felt more scared in her life.</p>
      <p>It did not take long once the men had swarmed the towers, camps erected and lean-tos, fires made despite the wintry cold that she heard footsteps; harried footsteps on the spiral staircase leading into her room, and those clanking with steel and armor. The door came upon at but a shove.</p>
      <p>Robb Stark was a boy, she saw; reddish hair and fury on his grimace. He was accompanied by a dozen retainers, among his most trusted of lords. She saw Roose Bolton's gaze and almost crapped herself.</p>
      <p>"Who do we have here, then?" Robb looked her up and down, and paused a still silence, wintry in the north. "You must be mad to come here."</p>
      <p>"I'm here to pledge my sword," spoke Zoe, and the voices drew utmost merriment, hidden only by the sliver of steel. Her greatsword, after all, was within <em>their</em> reach; yet they were never so wary as when Zoe rose from her seat.</p>
      <p>The Greatjon spat. "You, Lord Tywin's dog?"</p>
      <p>"I'm his dog no longer," Zoe hated the reputation she dragged around like lice. "I'll prove it. I'll fight him in battle."</p>
      <p>"Not bloody likely," chimed in Lord Karstark. "You'd as soon slay us as the horns sounded. Lord Tywin's gone mad, he has. Sending his dog to sneak in our camp!"</p>
      <p>"I'm not a spy," Zoe got angry, and they all tensed. His bulk and size was tremendous.</p>
      <p>The silence was still in the air; the rain padded down in a steady drip-drip. The wind whistled and made Zoe shiver. If they tried to kill her, she'd only let them <em>try</em>.</p>
      <p>"Well, then," Robb spoke up. "There's only one way to settle this."</p>
      <p>Zoe watched as the ruffled bulk of a shaggy-fur direwolf wounded its way underneath Robb's legs with refrain; and careened to the side where even the northern lords stepped back.</p>
      <p>Robb spoke up. "This is Grey Wind."</p>
      <p>The direwolf loped forward, yellow eyes and black pupils; Zoe stood frozen to the spot, as Grey Wind sniffed her hand, so armored in black and heavy plate. The direwolf sat; and improbably, the chuckle of the Greatjon at what had at first been a meal for his lord's pet; the direwolf scrambled up on Zoe whose ribcage hammered and scraped as though for a pat.</p>
      <p>Lightly, daintily, Zoe gave the direwolf the briefest of pats; and the relief, shudder of tension, the palpable exhaustion of the men was apparent to her from the look on their faces.</p>
      <p>Robb stared her down; Zoe thought that <em>this</em> was to be the commander of the northmen? He nodded and the direwolf crept back to his side, lathering happily.</p>
      <p>"Well, then," Robb studied a little smile from his lips. "That's that, then."</p>
      <p>"That's that?" the Greatjon countered. "This beast? He'll kill us in his sleep!"</p>
      <p>Zoe took a step to the Greatjon, whose hand was swinging for his sword; the steel a song he craved.</p>
      <p>"Oh, just take one step further - " the Greatjon grit his teeth. "Just one, bloody <em>step</em>!"</p>
      <p>And Zoe took one back, and sat on the bench, fuming. The Greatjon savored his triumph; yet Roose's eyes cut into hers. And Robb continued to stare.</p>
      <p>"If Grey Wind trusts him, that's all we need," Robb nodded. "Ser Gregor."</p>
      <p>Zoe watched him file out with his direwolf; and his bodyguard and his lords, who wavered just a bit as though to capture the moment. To instill in her the fear of the pack of wolves outside her door.</p>
      <p>"We'll be waitin'," the Greatjon pointed. "And I'll cut your damn head off myself."</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
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    <p></p>
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam stood beside the Iron Throne, and watched the glittering mass of people in the gallery. Theirs were faces spun to tales, spun to sleep by Pycelle's words: his list grew longer and longer, of the lords and knights who were to submit to the crown, to whose authority now lay in the boy-king Clara/Joffrey.</p>
      <p>Up high, surrounded by swords sat Clara; bored, but not one to sit still with the blades that would claim her. Adam glanced back to the crowd, and saw only merriment and laughter; there was such tidings that could be carried on the wind, and it was as though someone had farted in the back of the classroom. The gallery parted but a split that Sansa Stark, escorted by her honor guard, might attend.</p>
      <p>Adam smiled at Sansa and kept watch on the petitioners below. The Kingsguard were arrayed like a protective screen: Ser Barristan took the head, and Ser Arys had been posted to Grace/Tommen's rooms. The remaining fill of posts came to guardsmen wielding Lannister steel or the readiness of arms of the gold cloaks. Adam clasped his hands, the crimson cloak almost sleeveless to reveal sculpted shoulders; in the transition that had been one crown atop a boy's head, he would not forget that it could fall at any moment.</p>
      <p>He would do anything to protect his friends, and anything for House Lannister, he knew.</p>
      <p>Adam cast his glance to the small council: Pycelle read aloud, Varys' quill scratched, and Littlefinger offered a little smile. The master of coin had been surprised to receive the queen's rebuff about Janos Slynt; that his bribe was sufficient reward, and that "next you'll ask me to raise him to lordship, or of a castle". Petyr had merely stroked his beard.</p>
      <p>"... ah," Pycelle glanced up, and saw the Stark girl cutting a swathe through the petitioners; she was sad, eyes rimmed with red, her hair in plaits. She had learned the southron fashions, Adam saw.</p>
      <p>"Lady Sansa," Varys despaired. "You are welcome to this court."</p>
      <p>"Thank you, my lord," Sansa curtsied, and turned to Clara. "Your Grace."</p>
      <p>"Lady Sansa," Clara called, from a height. "What petition have you?"</p>
      <p>"I would beg Your Grace's mercy," Sansa admitted. "My father - "</p>
      <p>Adam rustled forward in silks and a hand raised, but Clara's voice cut through.</p>
      <p>"Your father incited treason and a riot. How can the people be safe?"</p>
      <p>"He's good," Sansa stressed. "I swear."</p>
      <p>Adam stepped forward and opened his mouth, but any declarations were cut short. Clara's voice cut afar from above.</p>
      <p>"There is only one course," Clara spoke up. "He will bend the knee."</p>
      <p>"Yes… I mean, of course he will," Sansa stuttered. "I just want him to be safe."</p>
      <p>Adam glanced up at Clara, and saw that she was well enthused, steadily gaining traction and furthermore prepared to continue talking. He stepped into the shadows and listened to what she had to say.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>" - then this court is at an end," Clara rose, and with the gait of balancing a book on her head, took the stairs carefully down where she met the Kingsguard who ringed her. The queen stood to one side.</p>
      <p>"Well done, Your Grace," the queen smiled, but Clara merely glanced away and headed for the corridor.</p>
      <p>Sandor kept a pace as did the Kingsguard, and the queen was left behind. Yet Clara did not halt her passage. She continued until she reached the yard, and the stables were her horse was saddled and notched one leg over until the rest of her men were adequately prepared. Clara kept Lion's Tooth scabbarded by her side, even as her guards clanked steel.</p>
      <p>Hers was a visit, a tour, a progress of King's Landing: she inspected smithys of their swords and armor and horseshoes, of taverns with their merriment and louts; Visenya's Hill atop which the faithful congregated; and Flea Bottom where the smell was rank.</p>
      <p>She fed gold where later she would recount the poor could not eat it; she walked the walls with guards who sized her up; she watched the fishermen who struggled with their catch; she oversaw the maiming of a man caught for thievery.</p>
      <p>All this and she felt no more a king than before. And on the horizon, the tallest of the Red Keep's parapets and towers that she might catch in the distance; somewhere muddied inbetween, sat Adam and his advisers.</p>
      <p><em>He </em>she could trust, at least. Grace, obviously. Max, she was still unsure about.</p>
      <p>She turned the reins of her horse, oblivious to the cries of whores out the balconies of brothels, and clattered up the rise towards the Hill of Rhaenys, and the Dragonpit loomed large.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max was pleased to be permitted an honor guard not unlike that had been posted on Sansa; though his were double for men, for Arya was known to be quick and with guile.</p>
      <p>He supposed that had been Clara's idea, and knew who to thank.</p>
      <p>He had kept Needle stashed in his chambers, but it was to other rooms in Maegor's Holdfast where he was bade, and there was little privacy or room to manuever. He might not come and go as he pleased or when he liked; he was still a hostage, and if the queen visited, it was only to return back to the small council chambers.</p>
      <p>"Ruling is tough work," the queen would smile, almost itching to get back to business.</p>
      <p>If only he was Joffrey, or at least Tommen, he scathed. Tommen, the lad, would be permitted to ride and hunt, or would if he was a bit older. He wouldn't have to rule, or make difficult decisions. Adam would make all those for him.</p>
      <p>Adam he could count on, and Clara liked keeping him in a stew. He had seen her with her soldiers, and wished he too could be free to ride away. It had been with a hollowing of his stomach that he learnt Ned was baking downstairs in a grimy cell. He wished he could hear of more news.</p>
      <p>Max had joined the court which had seen Clara rule from atop the Iron Throne. Adam, of course, stood by to offer a helping hand; but Clara knew what she wanted and carried it out.</p>
      <p>Max envied her the command as she was the older sibling. Yet his mother doted on him more than she ever cared to Clara.</p>
      <p>His was a rankling not forgotten as he bumped into Ser Meryn. Princess Myrcella shyly stepped out of the shadows, and offered a nervous smile as she tarried on. Max felt the rage build; but Ser Meryn wore armor, and he was but a little girl. Max watched Ser Meryn strut away after Myrcella.</p>
      <p>
        <em>Syrio, where are you when I need you?</em>
      </p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe's horse and bulk made her a visible figure among the soldiers marching in the thick of night. A terrible blanket of soldiers; with spears, bow, sword and axe. Northerners, with furs and scrap weapons, hardy visages and willingness to take the fight to the Lannisters.</p>
      <p>Leading them was Roose Bolton; that pale-eyed, blank face shock of a man.</p>
      <p>The moon was out, and stars blinked from their blanket above; the scrub and trees waved in the wind, and the Trident gurgled to one side. Yet theirs was of haste, of difficulty and to hurry: for at the Twins, Robb had decided to take his cavalry across into the riverlands, while they were to attack Lord Tywin.</p>
      <p>Zoe gripped the hilt of her sword and surprised a neighboring soldier. She was a bit disappointed not to be able to prove herself in view of the Stark boy, young as he was - young as <em>she</em> was, no older than he - yet with Roose Bolton commanding, no doubt word would filter back.</p>
      <p>And while she helped the northerners to a victory, Robb was… doing something in the riverlands. Fighting Jaime Lannister's forces, she tried to remember.</p>
      <p>As dawn broke, the wide opening met a gulley where the Trident passed through. It was but a speck on the horizon, but good enough. Her horse was tired and so was she; visibility of their goal spurred her courage. The men were exhausted; their forced march had left them flagging.</p>
      <p>Yet they were all intent to fight for Robb, for House Stark and for the north. And Zoe admired them for their bravery; the common foot soldier was only fodder to a stray arrow, after all.</p>
      <p>The ripple among the northmen constituted order: ahead, Roose Bolton was ordering the men to line up. He sent a rider with orders; the rider positively gulped to stare back at the closed visor, and informed Zoe that she was to conceal her presence until certain horns were called.</p>
      <p>Zoe nodded, and steadied her horse; few others were mounted, and so she remained in the rear of the right, forming up on the banks; horns sounded from the other side of the riverbank, and what she imagined as a lion like what she had seen in the bowels of Casterly Rock.</p>
      <p>She had been quite wrong.</p>
      <p>If the sight of the northmen in their furs and steel had warmed her courage, then seeing the Lannister camp unfold: glittering, gold, more mounted than she thought; unfolding like a parchment scroll, and <em>soldiers</em>. So many soldiers, she thought. Surely that was too many?</p>
      <p>Zoe glanced to Roose Bolton; his face a speck in his helmet with red silk fluttering in the wind. He looked utterly calm; dispatching orders and riders with visible command. He was as unbending as an oak.</p>
      <p>The red on the horizon lent a credibility to the colours flying from the Lannister camp. Yet Zoe knew these northerners were of grit and of honor. Robb would scarcely have let the bulk of his force perish in a battle as important as this. And <em>she</em> was Gregor Clegane, and not only would she prove her loyalty, but an invaluable asset.</p>
      <p>She would take Lord Tywin if it meant her life, and prove herself. For their cause was right.</p>
      <p>The horns sounded, and stilled in the proximity facing one another; Roose gave another call: the northmen on the right advanced, and theirs was a little rabble running forth, while archers from the enemy pelted them with arrows.</p>
      <p>Zoe watched with grim fascination: an equally ill-disciplined lot rode forth, what looked like swarthy, hairy madmen; but they were mounted. The two clashed where the space between the two vast armies were separated; theirs was a tight struggle, and no doubt the northerners were exhausted, while the barbarians were just as crazed as she was to die in the effort. She respected their vain efforts.</p>
      <p>Another horn sounded; Zoe's shoulders tensed and she turned to see Roose; he was looking directly at her, and then back at his men. Formations steadied and struggled and aligned in the northern army: yet she had not heard it wrong. She was to ride, and from the looks of it, the other soldiers were merely obeying orders to stay back.</p>
      <p>"Screw it," Zoe said out loud, and rode forth; she wielded her greatsword and her black horse urged onwards. The northerners were left in her dust, the squabbling pack fight in the center struggling for hold; the Lannister army rippling a crimson and gold sheen achingly stretching on the other side.</p>
      <p>Every movement on the corner on her eye precipitated a withdrawal if she did not keep her horse steady and her resolve steadier. Her horse kicked up divots as she rode forth, and for one thing: she saw the tired northerners flagging in their fight with the barbarians, and if nothing else: she would help them with her bulk, her intimidation, and her unwavering commitment.</p>
      <p><em>Those barbarians are mincemeat</em>, Zoe told herself, and hoped she could win.</p>
      <p>The sight of her on her horse gave the barbarians surprise rather than pause; if she had hoped the northerners would rally, she had no insight how deep into battle they were. Her horse crashed among the tumult, and swooped in with her sword to save the day.</p>
      <p>She was wildly unhorsed; the ground hit her hard, and she stood wheezing, as the northerners realised their assistance had come. Flagging, they grouped around her as her horse became a maniac; Zoe gathered her breath and rose, towering over all else. She heard horns and heard arrows as they rained from above and the clangor of steel, taste of blood and cries of men; yet when she grabbed for her sword, she ducked into the fray.</p>
      <p>And wield it, she did! The barbarians were hardy folk who died the same as men; the burbles of spit on their lips, visages of rage: she cut them asunder, and their steel meant little against the armor which only <em>she </em>could move in. Vaguely in the back of her mind, she hoped her horse was OK.</p>
      <p>But she focused all her will like she imagined a samurai would and cut through the mass; the northerners steadied but for too long had they been in battle, and the barbarians really <em>would</em> fight or die trying, the dishonor too great for them to flee.</p>
      <p>If the oncoming presence of Lannister soldiers gave her pause, she trusted that Roose Bolton would be sending northerners at her back to rescue them. She heard hooves and footsteps and steel and arrows; yet all that was in front of her, and the shuddering bulk of the northerners and barbarians were coming apart; squeezed like a grapefruit, pips going everywhere.</p>
      <p>She found the reins of her horse; bug-eyed and lathered and frantic, which seemed to soothe it only somewhat as she swung her leg over. A sight for men, and for her, it shrivelled her composure.</p>
      <p>The pressing, unassailable bulk of the Lannister army was almost upon them: and if she dared a glance back, it would only be to spy an opening in which to flee. Whether or not the northern army were to collide with equal verve, was not her purview.</p>
      <p>She would die trying, she reminded herself, and called to the northerners though she was not their commanding officer; boosting what shreds of morale from their routing numbers. And she rode through them, past them; valiantly for the scrap of Lannister fieldhands and smallfolk who had been first to rout once their horses were lost, to force the northerners further on as she was riding further on: into the belly of the enemy, where no doubt reinforcements would soon avail her, and where she meant to cut deep.</p>
      <p>The rumbling and tremor of the ground gave way to panic among the routing remnants of the Lannister's first charge: she cut each and every one down, and heard the northern cries and panic more than she did the enemy. She dared not look behind; she swung her sword and cut down routing remnants, and felt more a fool that she could not hear any northern rallying cry.</p>
      <p><em>If this has been my test, then I will at least prove brave,</em> Zoe warned herself, knowing that it was not her, it was Gregor. And perhaps she had wasted it all.</p>
      <p>She swung her sword downward, and caught improbably in her eye the image of a smaller man, standing over a fallen knight. She needed no lessons to know this was the first she had saw, and the only whom mattered: she rode forth, and tore off her horse, and the knight's relief was visible.</p>
      <p>The punch delivered to the Imp knocked him senseless; she was half-surprised it did not dislodge his head. She heard clangor of steel and pounding hooves as the noise gathered more in her head than all around her. She wildly turned to drag the Imp onto her horse, not unlike how she imagined cowboys hogtied criminals to their horses; yet there could be no such luxury as she glimpsed the jaws of the lion: about as many men as to crash them against the river. There could be no escape.</p>
      <p>She swung her leg over the horse, and the Imp slid from her grip: she daren't look, she shrivelled and knew there was nothing but to <em>run</em> - panic, panic - and knew her courage had deserted her.</p>
      <p>She panicked and flew, she thought of nothing else, she raced against the tide, but was caught by the leftmost wing of the encroaching lions: their surprise was great, they shuddered though their numbers held, and Zoe was thrown once more from her horse, who clattered for the wind.</p>
      <p>She saw it flee, and hoped it at least could carry word of her good deeds. Perhaps Robb's wolf could commune. Perhaps <em>she</em> could commune when her ghost was among the dead; for she saw no northern reserve but for pickings and leavings, and certainly none to best the considerable army with murder, yes fear, but ardor and determination in their unwavering, shifting-shape wave of steel, crimson and gold.</p>
      <p>Hers was a fraught onslaught, her sword felled many, and many swept to avoid it; but the numbers replenished as an inexhaustible wave, and there were no longer northerners to support her.</p>
      <p>A growing gasp, a yell, a ride, a wave: she could not attribute it, but that she was not relieved of fighting, she did not care. The numbers pulsed around her, and she wondered what had caused it, before the bulk crashed into her, and she felt all of a tumult, shivering shaking crashing.</p>
      <p>She felt a press from the rear; she felt hands grope for her, and she could smell the sweat of a horse. It took all her ability to climb onto the back of a rider who had so found her. And she gripped onto him like a lover she had never had; the madness possessed of a battle fervor, the rider could only attribute.</p>
      <p>She left the northerners to their deaths, and loosely slid out of consciousness. And knew that panic and madness were her twin curses, and could not fault herself for trying to save them.</p>
      <p>On the rise, the northerners were in retreat. Roose Bolton, his pink streamers, riding away.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam swept down the stone stairs; in here, the air was putrid and the torch sconces were lit to keep the darkness at bay. Gold cloaks jangled in their steel and armor; Ser Mandon kept the lead as the gaoler produced a set of keys.</p>
      <p>Adam squeezed his wrist that he was in the enclave of protection, and stepped into the cell where Ned Stark lay.</p>
      <p>The cell was filthy: an abomination of standards, of strewn hay and a full bucket and the stench. The flagstones were greasy and he almost slipped on one. The guards piled around Ned; the chains were removed, and they hauled him to his feet.</p>
      <p>"Y-your Grace," Ned managed, his throat hoarse and sore, and his attribution to her less out of deference than for a blank show of what was expected, what <em>could</em> be expected.</p>
      <p>"You understand?" Adam raised his eyebrows. "You are to swear fealty to Joff. And to all the realm, you <em>are </em>a traitor, Lord Stark."</p>
      <p>He nodded vaguely. "And my daughters?"</p>
      <p>"Your daughters will be safe," Adam conditioned, and Ned saw some of that truth in her face. He nodded once more, and slid his eyes to the door where the gold cloaks hauled him.</p>
      <p>Adam kept among the rear; shivering in the cold, disgusted by the smell, hating the darkness with the torches waved aloft by one or two soldiers. His was a quiet lament up the spiral staircase, through the dungeons and past back into the castle corridors where rugs and sconces and tapestries once more met his eye.</p>
      <p>He gave a sigh of relief, and continued with his well ennobled guard out into the yard, where the gold cloaks thrust Ned on display and the sparring few parted; there were horses in the stable and tradesmen with their carts and they all separated to see the Lord Hand like a common criminal.</p>
      <p>Adam glanced up to the Red Keep he had recently evacuated; Ser Mandon halted a pause.</p>
      <p>"Is - is the king - " Adam asked nervously "Where is he?"</p>
      <p>Ser Boros bounded near. "They left earlier, Your Grace. He's with the High Septon."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Clara toiled in the sept of Baelor, where the growing tumult of the crowd had begun. Scraps and leavings had been their host; the gold cloaks assembled to make the place safe. Their spears shone a glint in the sunlight; yet it was inside here Clara had found some silence.</p>
      <p>Apart from the scurrying of the High Septon wringing his hands in water and adjusting the mantle of his crown, Clara could count on one hand the people close by; her Lord Commander, and most of her sworn few. Sandor, of course, glanced with misgiving; his eyes going to the high ceilings.</p>
      <p>It had been with hesitation that she had seen Sansa beforehand: the girl had been brave, of course; but implored for his safety. She hated seeing the plaintiveness in Sansa that she so detested in herself.</p>
      <p>Yet she had allowed for Max/Arya to accompany Sansa; he had, of course, been searched most thoroughly as she still suspected him to be playing for his own game, and been permitted as part of the gallery stationed outside, waiting for Lord Stark, and waiting for her. She wore the crown, after all.</p>
      <p>The smoky braziers, tall solemn statues and offerings to the Faith did not tide her or reassure her. This minor bit of theatre did not help her spirits. Moreover, Adam meant to be in charge of everything. <em>That</em> she would have to cut out. She would not suffer him ramble on longer than the Grand Maester.</p>
      <p>The footsteps made her glance up; with a steadied gait in her direction, her hope rose in her stomach that this sordid business could be dispensed with. Yet she saw only the mockingbird pin and the velvet of Littlefinger's doublet, his smirk and little beard ashy grey. He offered a bow and the Kingsguard turned to face him.</p>
      <p>"Your Grace," he began, with a little smile. "A crowd has quite gathered outside."</p>
      <p>"Is he here?" Clara asked brusquely, and received an unfavourable answer. "Then why are you here?"</p>
      <p>His face registered neither surprise nor disapproval. He walked down the steps as nary a gaze, a concern in the world as if he were Willy Wonka dispensing treats. The Kingsguard did not lay their hands on their swords yet tightened around the king imperceptibly. Littlefinger gave a little chuckle.</p>
      <p>"You can be sure I only have the king's good interests at heart," he laid his hand to his own.</p>
      <p>Clara nodded that the soldiers might permit he come further than shouting distance. Ser Barristan kept his eyes on Lord Baelish; distrusting him as far as he had seen in attendance at council meetings.</p>
      <p>"The Lady Sansa was pleased to hear of Your Grace's assent, that her father was to be spared," Petyr smiled. "And yet, oh how the crowd do clamor. You can see it in their eyes."</p>
      <p>Clara watched him, and thought what a difficult redoubt he was to break. His face was like sculpted stone set perfectly in the eaves of his face. There was no hinge with which his mask might flag.</p>
      <p>"The crowd will turn on the tide of whatever is thrown to them," Clara raised an eyebrow. "They need us."</p>
      <p>"Yes," Petyr lingered. "And let it not be said that the king is not merciful."</p>
      <p>The silence stood between them as did Clara with Littlefinger. Sandor's eyes swept the sept as did his roving motion of steadily turning around to glimpse all the statues with disdain and refrain.</p>
      <p>"And yet," Petyr continued, taking in Clara's look. "The city may need us, but what of the Seven Kingdoms? Your name will ring out just and true. And a swift, bold move to reach the ears even across the Narrow Sea would surely hail your name. His Grace King Joffrey, a <em>man</em> of decisive action."</p>
      <p>"What do you mean?" Clara frowned, lingering upon his hesitation. Littlefinger walked further.</p>
      <p>"Is it not to be said that the Wall is too kind a fate for a man like Lord Stark?" Petyr raised his eyebrows, his breath of mint discouraging her from his close presence. "Your grandfather went to war over your uncle, the Imp. Certainly no less an action here can herald your name as a Lannister."</p>
      <p>Clara scrutinised him; the pursing of his lips, the mocking bow, the eyes forming an incline as though to say, why not? And truly, she figured for herself, it was all within her power: <em>Why not?</em></p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>As though Max, too, were treasonous and put on for show, he was bathed and changed and wore a fitting grey dress, stashed in the bottom of the trunk which had been his belongings from Winterfell.</p>
      <p>With a little plait of what hair he had, Max stood beside Sansa along the gallery lineup at the sept of Baelor, and watched the crowd hustle and bore forth as the participants for their entertainment were presented.</p>
      <p>And this, surely the best day to come! Ned hauled up the steps; ragged and torn and belabored, and his grateful glance to his girls to know they were safe. Max gave him a wink and considered himself well composed for the churning in his gut.</p>
      <p>For the queen stood nearby; as did Varys and Littlefinger, and the Clara-king, of course. She was shaved-sharp, regal posture and a countenance not unlike a thousand-year old warrior, with her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. It was as though she could see through the mists and skies which separated them from further north where battle was an outcry.</p>
      <p>And Clara turned to the crowd, who had begun to throw stones at Ned for his admitting to treason: for so sullying his honor, in trying to replace the king and seat himself on the throne.</p>
      <p>"... what say you, Your Grace?" the High Septon turned quizzically to Clara, who he could not quite figure out.</p>
      <p><em>It's easy</em>, Max thought to himself as Clara stepped forward. <em>She's a bitch when she wants to be.</em></p>
      <p>"The people have spoken, and so has my betrothed, Lady Sansa," the king waved an irritated hand flick at the gallery beside. "Ned Stark has confessed his treason and his sentence must be just."</p>
      <p>Max watched the crowd, their eager eyes and hungry faces. All they had in their life was lust for scandal; their appetite whetted by what the High Septon decreed intolerable according to the god's practices. Clara turned her eyes to Ned, who kept his posture bowed, his hands tied behind his back, eyes to the crowd.</p>
      <p>"He must be sentenced to the Wall," Clara declared, and Max's innards wheezed a sigh of relief, and if gas escaped him he did not care now more than any other time.</p>
      <p>The crowd railed and rallied; and if that did not fit their particular view of justice, the gold cloaks did carry out their effort of containing them. Clara swept into the enclave of her Kingsguard; the queen was smiling down at Sansa; and Max noticed Varys, his hands tucked into his robes, having a word with Littlefinger, who stroked his beard while his eyes roved over the Spider.</p>
      <p>Max was ushered along as did the gold cloaks haul Ned to his feet, and the two matched a gaze that was burnished by Sansa's fright of laughter and clap and decree and lust for life.</p>
      <p>"You girls look after each other," he muttered, sure he was still in the black cells; yet to be shaken awake.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe felt a pounding as if she had drunk deep of ale; her body ached all over, pummeled as if she had stood beneath a waterfall. Yet she did not feel cleansed. The bodies had littered the battleground so briefly left; the masses of corpses picking for crows, picked clean, their sacrifice in vain.</p>
      <p>For it had been a rout, however orderly and led by Roose Bolton who rode ahead, and if he was weighed down by his conscience then he was as light as the crows who scattered and resettled as the lions made good their feast.</p>
      <p>Zoe grimly trudged ahead; leaving the rider who had so plucked her from the field of obscurity to his own horse; hers had fled the battle, and she had later learned why the reason for the hush that had so enveloped at the time of her being pressed upon by an onslaught of Lannister men.</p>
      <p>" - dangling from the stirrups, near about his head, bobbing this way and that," grinned a grizzled soldier in the employ of House Karstark. He had been one of the routing units who had survived the devastation; and yet, he had seen her bravery. The tale spread amongst the limping and wounded.</p>
      <p>Her horse had been cut down by a whizzing arrow. But the hostage had been taken anew.</p>
      <p>"Only the gods know," the soldier shook his head, when Zoe had inquired if he would live. "We've not no maester. Perhaps old Lord Frey can save him."</p>
      <p>And so Zoe turned her eyes ahead, and saw with mincing, peering altitude that the road ahead was still long. And that for all that they had marched at night, and fought at dawn, their rest had only been as swift as Roose Bolton would permit it.</p>
      <p>"By now, our Young Wolf's about crossed," muttered a spearman, who had seen his Karstark allies fallen against the Lannister foe. He kept his spirits high with a wheezing breath that frosted. "That'll keep Lord Tywin busy, it will."</p>
      <p>But it hampered her spirits to hear such. Lord Tywin still had as large a force as any. And <em>they</em> were the defeated army, which comprised almost all of Robb's men! Surely he would be caught?</p>
      <p><em>It doesn't matter</em>, Zoe spat as she lingered long enough to wave away the crows that pecked at the fallen few who could march on no longer. She glanced to Roose who steadily resumed his pace; if he noticed others flagging, he merely called orders that they continue. <em>The bastard.</em></p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
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    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Clara watched as the petitioners filed forth, one-by-one; and while at first it had interested her to lay claim as an arbitrator to such dull events, the remonstrance with which they visibly held back in light of the gold cloaks ringing the walls gave them pause.</p>
      <p><em>Are they idiots?</em> Clara wondered, as she dismissed one only for a surge of others to methodically, however warily under the eye of the Kingsguard, press forth. <em>I'm only trying to get shit sorted</em>.</p>
      <p>Yet they saw her as an open hand; and perhaps that was true, given her leniency on the steps of Baelor. It had been Petyr's idea that she take a bolder stand. Yet she had already seen such play out.</p>
      <p>And being a king was tiring, especially sitting on this uncomfortable chair. The petitioners could hardly form a mob without getting cut if they tried to run up to face her. And she'd draw her sword and knock a few back, and her Kingsguard would mop up at the rest.</p>
      <p>The queen stood to one side, watching and not always entirely sure of the correct answer: yet if that didn't work, then when Clara glanced down to assent that Adam might step forth, then he deliberated in such lingo as to befuddle the petitioner from coming back.</p>
      <p>
        <em>A lawyer who merely sends them away to refrain and brew and come back harder next time.</em>
      </p>
      <p>She wondered if it made her weak to rely on Adam, but figured her swords gave her strength. And she wasn't about to let go of the mantle of power, not while danger was in the air.</p>
      <p>Yet when her silence reigned long enough, the queen stepped forward to 'help'. And while her words weren't always convincing, an outcome of some kind was always forthwith. And the petitioner who disagreed in silent fuming met her raised eyebrow, and knew worse could come with but a push.</p>
      <p>"... this man is a thief, Your Grace," spoke Lord Baelish, and Clara watched as the beady-eyed, light fingered criminal who reminded her of Max came forth.</p>
      <p>The queen raised her head. "Send him to the Wall."</p>
      <p>And when two knights argued over boundary stones for their neighbouring land, the queen spoke up, "We will send a soldier to investigate, in due course. <em>Due</em> course, sers."</p>
      <p>And Clara watched as a woman pled that her lover, beheaded as a traitor, deserved a proper burial. The queen wore only a thin refrain upon her highborn features.</p>
      <p>"You must understand that treason is a weed that must be pulled out," the queen spoke softly.</p>
      <p>The woman rallied. "Yet he did not go to the Wall! Lord Eddard, and a thief; but my lover must die? Like a common criminal?"</p>
      <p>Clara watched as the queen merely nodded to the gold cloaks and so the woman was dragged off to the cells. The silence was unsettling; but the queen continued, as though there had been no break in conversation; and the petitioners were only concerned with their own matters, not the larger scale of things.</p>
      <p>Yet when a singer was pulled forth, and performed for the benefit of the crowd, his was a lament sung with a woodharp where he coined phrases upon Robert's vigor and death, and conditioned the queen's mouth into a sulk when he sang of her part to play in his bed.</p>
      <p>"<em>What</em> an interesting song," Clara called jocularly, but the queen was rustling skirts.</p>
      <p>"His Grace is right," the queen stood rigid, almost shaking; her hands balled into fists. "Such eloquence in a bard. The canvasses you must have stretched to play so well. The warm beds you must know."</p>
      <p>The singer frowned; delighted at the king's pleasure but frowning at the queen, he collected himself.</p>
      <p>"You must count yourself such a talent," the queen surmised. "And yet, for a song sung about King Robert, no doubt it would be best played at his home. To regale those whom he grew up with, who knew him best."</p>
      <p>"Your Grace?" the singer frowned, as the queen turned, but sped back with a swirl of skirts.</p>
      <p>"Home!" she cried, utterly. "You will go to Storm's End. I insist. An honor to be granted upon you for such <em>fine</em> singing."</p>
      <p>"Y-yes, Your Grace," the singer, humbled, bowed and smiled. "I shall."</p>
      <p>Clara concealed her mirth behind a smile as she glanced out the windows where a gull flew; and the queen strode angrily back to her throne, forgot herself and then rose once more to address the petitioners.</p>
      <p>"That will be all," she advised, as though dismissing a classroom of children.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>"That was quite a show, Your Grace," Petyr smirked, as Adam swept into the small council chambers, and took his seat at the head of the table.</p>
      <p>"Was it?" Adam frowned, still burning with the insult.</p>
      <p>Varys took his seat, and Grand Maester Pycelle took a quavering, long look at the table.</p>
      <p>"Will the king not be joining us?"</p>
      <p>"The king has many matters to attend to, and I am his voice," Adam smiled. "Please sit, Grand Maester. You must be tired after the session."</p>
      <p>"Well… why - " Pycelle paused, caught Varys' mirth and staggered for a chair.</p>
      <p>The room was lit warmly, with the windows open to permit a breeze, and suddenly the suffocations of the office of power were a reminder; a slap in the face, not to misstep.</p>
      <p>"So," Adam took a straightened posture. "I understand you have some news for me?"</p>
      <p>This was not strictly true; yet the councillors knew better than to attend empty-handed.</p>
      <p>"I do, Your Grace," Varys spoke up before Petyr could intercede. "Lord Renly, who fled the capital with Loras, has made it to Highgarden at last. I do fear to report that he has wed Margery Tyrell - "</p>
      <p>"No fear of a maiden's prize," Petyr chuckled, and his face remained straight as Varys continued.</p>
      <p>" - and he has been crowned King in the South, by the stormlands and by the Reach."</p>
      <p>The silence was stifling. Of course, if they expected Adam to be surprised, he was not about to warrant it. Yet he could not appear so overly informed as to dismiss the prospect entirely.</p>
      <p>"Renly is a fool, with Loras on his back," Adam announced. "The Tyrells only dallied at Storm's End during the rebellion. The Lord of Highgarden commands only green boys who have yet to know of war."</p>
      <p>"Lord Tarly would doubt that, to be sure," Petyr raised his eyebrows. "There are trained men in the Reach; numbering in the tens of thousands. Surely, Your Grace, they are the eminent threat?"</p>
      <p>"There are plenty of threats," Adam spat, and considered himself well enough of a fool to be disposed of the truth which she held. "What else?"</p>
      <p>"Stannis Baratheon," Varys once more, continued his tirade before Littlefinger could begin his. "He has summoned a shadowbinder from across the Narrow Sea, and slowly collects an army to Dragonstone."</p>
      <p>"He will find no common cause with anyone beyond his shores," Adam was quick to say; his certainty almost too quick, as though covering a lapse. Petyr and Varys both noticed it; Pycelle merely ignored it. "Who would support Stannis?"</p>
      <p>"Ned Stark might, if he were not in his cell," Petyr spoke up. "And the Young Wolf could follow in his footsteps."</p>
      <p><em>That</em> gave Adam pause, and the councillors swapped glances. He reassured himself with a flounce of posture and gestures.</p>
      <p>"No," Adam shook his head. "Robb and Stannis are divided by my father's army. They can hardly regroup to fight as one."</p>
      <p>"They may very well strategise by raven, Your Grace," Pycelle spoke up, like a book unopened in a decade. "Who knows… if Ned Stark were leading the north - "</p>
      <p>"Well, he's not!" Adam burst out, to stilled surprise. "He's in the dungeon; a more sanitary one than before, but he is our hostage nonetheless. While the wolves roam the field, he will not yet be risked to travel north to the Wall. Next?"</p>
      <p>The councillors resumed usual tales of day-to-day business: Varys kept his hands tucked in his robes, Petyr stroked his beard, Pycelle labored to regale all; and Adam fumed to keep his shoulders set, his voice from quavering, and the fine sheen of perspiration dappling his brow.</p>
      <p><em>I can't let them see me panic</em>, Adam promised himself. <em>There's too much at stake.</em></p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>The banging on the tables came as the music died down.</p>
      <p>Zoe had since bathed, ate and slept; and wore but the doublet of her old House, the three dogs of Clegane; yet at this feast, she felt she stood out like a sore thumb. Northerners and Freys threw back their wine, tore into their trenchers, and wore merriment like a second skin. Some degree of practise had to be employed; the groom certainly wasn't about to join in.</p>
      <p>He sat at the place of honor, beside Lord Walder Frey up on the high table. Where Lord Frey was wrinkled, dotted with age spots and bitter; Roose Bolton was placid-faced, calmly still, his eyes seeing all. Zoe never liked catching his gaze or being caught by it. It gave her shivers just to think about it.</p>
      <p>The crowd parted, and so too did the ladies of what could be called Walder Frey's court to reveal that most nervous, buxom, yet eager bride to be. Roose Bolton stood as though he were about to command a march, and Zoe thought that this time he'd actually have to <em>participate</em>.</p>
      <p>The bitter, rank, vile memory of how he had turned to retreat haunted her; Zoe was sure he had sent her to die. Bolton men sat the tables in greater numbers than any of the Karstarks or Glovers camped outside.</p>
      <p>Though the men were merry to strip and send Walda up to the bedchamber, giggling with glee; it was with lament, and not a small amount of fear that Walda's girls drew back from Roose Bolton. His was an unhurried gait, and only Walder Frey chuckled to see him go.</p>
      <p>The doors closed, and there was silence. Zoe knew a man like that would instill in his bedfellows a certain silence; a dominance, if she could be sure he had it in him. But he would not brook argument.</p>
      <p>Zoe had drunk little of the ale, and proceeded up to her chambers. They were draughty, the featherbed comfortable enough with day-old rushes. Her greatsword and armor were in one corner.</p>
      <p>But she was not tired, though the scurrying of Frey-weaselly footsteps echoed, where soldiers or servants were bandying lovers down their lane. Torch sconces flickered in lonely corridors, rugs curling at the edges with age.</p>
      <p>Zoe wandered down the corridor, and heard only her breath and footsteps; she took a spiral staircase up to where the maester's chambers were kept. Brenett was rotund, careless of his appearance; but dissimilar to most of the Freys.</p>
      <p>"Is he OK?" Zoe asked, without much ado of greeting. The maester jumped and pleased himself at his guest.</p>
      <p>"He's had several knocks to the head," Brenett led Zoe into an adjoining chamber, where two Frey guards were posted. "He's been fed and given water but I fear… "</p>
      <p>"Do what you can," Zoe grit her teeth. "It almost cost me my life to get him here."</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Clara sat in the throne constructed and positioned to overlook the yard, where the tourney was taking place. Dotted around in the stands or on the walls were nobles of the court, but always soldiers with wary eyes for the crowd. Not far away, Grace/Tommen gushed to hold Lady Ermesande, who squalled red-faced as red-faced Grace gave her back and recaptured her seat.</p>
      <p>Sansa and Max/Arya was announced, and Clara glanced up. Sansa was beautiful, for of course she knew no grief; she dressed as well as any southron lady with her hairstyle and gown. Sansa offered courtesies and Clara tolerated as little as she dare, not wanting to be unkind. She tore her gaze away as the trumpets sounded.</p>
      <p>Clara noted Max balling his fists as Ser Meryn rode in. She had heard of how Nymeria had been slain; but when Max had opportunity to complain, Clara had explained she could not just get rid of them, nor while the war was on. It was the Starks who had almost won, she reminded him.</p>
      <p>Yet they were at a stalemate; and Max remained furious. At least Lady had been kept alive; but she too was manacled in the kennels and kept the hounds fretting and howling late at night.</p>
      <p>The Redwyne twins, sporting red hair and freckles that would make them a target at her high school, were as Adam/Cersei reminded her useful hostages. Their father commanded one of the best navies in the Seven Kingdoms; so far, Lord Redwyne had not joined King Renly's call to arms.</p>
      <p><em>King Renly</em>, Clara scathed. It was as though it was as easy as putting on the crown, marrying someone you wouldn't want to sleep with, and he commanded the largest army in the Seven Kingdoms.</p>
      <p>The trumpets blared again, and when one the challengers was deemed late, he was found stumbling drunk, barely clothed and almost indifferent. Clara snorted with laughter and so too did the court: she knew Adam would take Ser Dontos' lateness as an insult, but there were too many serious moments as king. Ser Dontos struggled to mount his horse and gave up on the flagstones.</p>
      <p>"More wine!" he called, and lay flat on his back as though about to have a little sunbathe nap.</p>
      <p>The laughs grew at this, but Clara's was cut short. She could hardly have it said that she was <em>too</em> indulgent. She rose from her throne.</p>
      <p>"Dunk him in a trough of water," she ordered, and it was done, and he spluttered back to life. "See him out of the city."</p>
      <p>"Your Grace - " he was cut short as gold cloaks hoisted either arm and him to his feet as he was led off.</p>
      <p>Clara slid her eyes to the Hound. "You can fight him, if you like."</p>
      <p>Sandor cast his gaze down to where Ser Lothor Brune awaited, and knew to await his bruises.</p>
      <p>"Fine," Clara said, after a silence. "Ser Arys."</p>
      <p>"No!" Grace cried, and a bit of laughter escaped the lips of nobles. It had become common knowledge how fond and clingy the young prince had become of his sworn knight.</p>
      <p>"Have no fear," Ser Arys smiled gently.</p>
      <p>Clara watched Grace's admiring gaze follow Ser Arys out into the yard. Horses were ready, stirrups clinked with boots tucked secure; the riders vaulted forth, and lances crashed against one another. The riders rode amid claps and cheers, and if entertainment was the theme, then Ser Arys and Ser Brune broke four lances against each other, and after some commiseration they turned their head upwards to the king.</p>
      <p>There had been no doubt of their skill; and Ser Arys was the favorite, and the king's shield besides.</p>
      <p>"Prince Tommen," Clara called, adroitly awarding the favor. Grace jumped and had to remind herself. "Who do you call the winner?"</p>
      <p>And so as Clara gave her nod and saw the contestants off, she drummed her fingers against the arm of her throne and glanced near where she heard not a stirring of wind nor the sound of footsteps.</p>
      <p>"Is something wrong, Your Grace?" Sansa politely inquired, but Clara shook it off.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>"Captured," Adam read, with some surprise.</p>
      <p>The small council was in session, as it routinely was absent Clara/Joffrey. Although she was king, she trusted Adam to make the decisions; he knew more about what might pass than she did. However, when it came to keeping order, Clara would step up to be the figure around whom the people might rally. It had not escaped her how hated Joffrey was, and what that might lead to.</p>
      <p>"By the Mountain," Pycelle elaborated, on the slip of parchment held by the queen. "That traitor. Lord Tywin writes… "</p>
      <p>"Yes," Adam scrunched up the parchment. "Father has written to me, too."</p>
      <p>"The north now hold <em>two</em> key hostages," Petyr observed. "At least it can be said, that we have Robb Stark's father and daughters."</p>
      <p>"Yes, yes," Adam snapped. "Well, we'll just have to beat him. He's one soldier."</p>
      <p>"Backed by the north, Your Grace," Petyr reminded. "Lord Tywin marches on Harrenhal. Would you have him move his army here?"</p>
      <p>"You know very well he won't listen to me," Adam replied. "Besides, we are not in such dire straits yet."</p>
      <p>"Forgive me, Your Grace," Petyr hesitated. "But we have Robb Stark in the north, and Stannis and Renly in the south."</p>
      <p>"I can read, and remember," Adam flared his eyebrows. "Now tell me something else."</p>
      <p>"There is rioting in the streets," Varys began. "There is not enough food - "</p>
      <p>Adam began haltingly. "There is Lannister gold we can give - "</p>
      <p>"All the gold in Casterly Rock, I fear, will not help the smallfolk if there is no food to buy," Varys simpered, tucking his hands in his sleeves.</p>
      <p>"Lord Tywin would never permit it," Pycelle shook his head, and the queen frowned.</p>
      <p>There were footsteps outside, and the doors opened to permit the king. The small council stood and bowed.</p>
      <p>"Small council," Clara nodded, eyeing Adam. "If you would leave me."</p>
      <p>The shuffling of footsteps and the silence between them and the door closed by Ser Barristan, who had formed the king's escort. Littered parchment blew across the table from the window breeze.</p>
      <p>"Nobody came," Clara took a seat at random.</p>
      <p>Adam remained standing. "Nobody?"</p>
      <p>Clara nodded. "I sat at that pointless little tournament with Sansa jibber-jabbing in my ear. <em>Nobody's coming</em>."</p>
      <p>Adam reached over for the scrunched parchment and it blew out of reach. They watched it settle like a dust mote.</p>
      <p>"Zoe's got Tyrion," Adam sat down, all of an exhausted mire. "She joined the Starks and she somehow captured him."</p>
      <p>"How?" Clara was stark, and Adam shrugged.</p>
      <p>"I dunno," Adam admitted. "I don't see how even the Mountain could have won against Lord Tywin's army on the Green Fork. I thought he'd send <em>someone</em> to be Hand."</p>
      <p>"Why?" Clara frowned. "I thought you had this under control - "</p>
      <p>"I do!" Adam burst out. "Tyrion would get in the way, try to undermine me; but at least Kevan, I could get some ideas… "</p>
      <p>"Perhaps he thinks you're actually doing something right," Clara cocked her head.</p>
      <p>"Or he has no one to spare," Adam wondered. A silence grew between them.</p>
      <p>"Do you… do you think Zoe knows?" Clara asked. "About what might happen?"</p>
      <p>Adam fixed her with a stare. "Not a chance. She only watched a few episodes, tutting this way and that; and even afterwards she'd say she didn't want to join into all the hype. As if that makes her special!"</p>
      <p>Clara kept silent; Adam was reminded that she and Zoe were closer than he and Clara, and hated it, as he hated most things.</p>
      <p>"If you know how things will go," Clara spoke up. "Why didn't you tell Tywin? Why didn't you tell him so your precious <em>Jaime</em> didn't get captured? I'm sick of hearing about Renly's big-dick army."</p>
      <p>"You know what will happen," Adam raised his eyebrows.</p>
      <p>"And I know what <em>didn't</em> happen," Clara scathed. "What if this changes things?"</p>
      <p>"It won't," Adam replied. "Not in the larger scale."</p>
      <p>"Then why didn't you - " Clara slammed her hand on the table. " - tell Tywin about Robb trying to take Jaime unawares?"</p>
      <p>Adam burned under her gaze. "I only know what will happen so long as not too much changes. We have to survive. And if too much changes, I'm Cersei."</p>
      <p>Clara stared and glanced dismissively with a grimace.</p>
      <p>"And if I know nothing," Adam shrugged. "Then I'm myself: ranting, raving, hating, throwing things. And I'm of no use at all."</p>
      <p>"Funny. I always thought that of you. You've always been a doormat," Clara rose and headed for the door. "You better hope we survive. That's all you're good for."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Since the war had broken out, Max had always been kept in confined quarters. His new chambers in Maegor's Holdfast were well enough furnished, and he had guards posted on his door; but he could at least be permitted to walk the corridors and in the yard, not going further than the Red Keep.</p>
      <p>Yet now the war clamped them tight; riots were common, and though his guard had swords, merchants were found in wells or smallfolk with their throats slit in tavern brawls.</p>
      <p>It was an uneasy kettle of fish, and Max cursed that he was not trained enough to defend himself.</p>
      <p>At least if he was grown and good with a sword, he could convincingly join the Kingsguard and help House Lannister. There were armies at their doorstep and he felt useless as an ornamental hostage; as ornamental as Sansa was. She at least was in line to be queen. What about him? Was he a pawn?</p>
      <p>He knew the answer, and tarried not. He saw the queen flit in and out of her chambers; the king calling from atop the Iron Throne. Smallfolk had poured in from the outer lands, and a tax had been levied on entering to keep the coffers full.</p>
      <p>Max didn't pretend to understand the larger picture. He was good at fast, full frontal thrusts with a jab and a bash to the enemy to keep them down. The body of a little girl did him no good; unlike Adam, he did not see the insight in seducing people as the other gender. Especially at his age.</p>
      <p>At least Adam had permitted that he might be trained. Syrio had gone walkabouts, but Ser Barristan had been dispatched to teach Arya on sword fighting. The Lord Commander expressed his doubts, but he had done as ordered all the same. It wasn't as though the king was lacking in protectors, or ventured out much, anyway.</p>
      <p>Max was glad for something to keep his mind of the boredom. Deep within the Red Keep, he knew; his friends were plotting for a way out of this mess. Or perhaps, Max figured, they already knew how.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace had freedom, once again! And at least, curtailed not unlike Max, she could visit him and Myrcella and Sansa.</p>
      <p>Yet it was dreary rains the day she wanted to go riding in the kingswood, when Ser Arys mentioned <em>that</em> to be the real reason. And when she wanted to sail on a pleasure barge, it had been his reply that trading ships were delivering "important supplies" and she supposed she could stay inside.</p>
      <p>Yet on days where the sun shone bright, and the comet streaked blood-red, she wished she could go out and play. She could only play come-into-my-castle with Myrcella so many times before she'd go off and pray at the sept. And even now that freedom was restricted.</p>
      <p>She almost thought the queen and king <em>liked</em> imposing restrictions. But they were for her own good, she knew. <em>They</em> didn't want to stay bottled up with the rioting peasants either.</p>
      <p>Grace had heard word of uncle Tyrion; and if Lord Tywin was planning on sending a replacement, he hadn't arrived. Or he was taking his time. Or he was dead on the road!</p>
      <p>Either way, it made no difference to Grace; but another Lannister, a kin which whom she might spend her days, made her belly ache. She so wanted her family around her. But Adam and Clara were busy, and Max often at sparring with Ser Barristan. Only she didn't find it an odd arrangement; of course Max liked swords. She didn't, but then she didn't usually get what she asked for anyway, and she was long since used to it.</p>
      <p>At least frog-face had gone. She had seen the new commander of the Gold Cloaks, but she would always prefer her Ser Arys. If only she was Myrcella, she sighed. When she was old enough and the war was over, she could petition the queen to let him go from the Kingsguard.</p>
      <p>Then she could live a happy life with him; perhaps the Reach, it was sunny there, he said.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>The talk around the Twins was of Robb's victory against Jaime Lannister; and with the Imp in the sickbed, the north held a steady advantage against the lions should it come to a truce.</p>
      <p>Yet Walder Frey saw fit to remind that the Young Wolf was still to wed a daughter of his, truce or not; and immediately began complaining about the cost of such a feast. His sons and daughters hated him; they all wanted him to die, but he was stalwart and on his eighth wife.</p>
      <p>When Zoe broke her fast with the other northmen in the hall, she spied newly wed Roose Bolton and his giggling wife. He made only the simplest of accolades in her direction, and swept his gaze about the hall as if he would take it in. He never failed to exact his piercing gaze upon Zoe.</p>
      <p>She was soiled, but only for him. <em>She</em> felt that if she had led, she would have won against the Lannisters. Or at least, she could now be counted as a northmen; she was willing to die for the greater food, and had proved her allegiance to the Starks; yet their host remained at the Twins.</p>
      <p>Of course, the riverlands was being scoured by Lord Tywin and his twenty thousand men. Robb Stark was holed up in Riverrun, and he too was holding his position. There was only so much food, farmland and berry bushes to be scavenged. Someone had to make a move.</p>
      <p>Why didn't they let <em>her</em> lead? Zoe resented it. There would be none of this ego-bashing; seeing who had the bigger pair. If Roose led his host to Riverrun, surely there'd be enough men to take on Harrenhal. Each castle was roughly the same, she figured.</p>
      <p>And so she sparred in the yard when the weather was pleasant enough; no northerner or Frey dared compete lest their arm chop off. She was glad to wash often and well, even if she had to share the bathhouse with Freys whose weaselly eyes glittered and who, she was sure, whispered behind her back.</p>
      <p>Yet she was confident that word would have reached Robb by now. And if it had, then he might select her for a secret mission: and she'd be willing. She wanted to use her sword for justice.</p>
      <p>She walked up the stairs to her chambers, having come from the stables where she was breaking in a new horse. They always bucked at a new rider, especially one as big as her; but she needed a mount if she was to reach Riverrun on Robb's whim.</p>
      <p>She bumped into the maester Brenett. His visage wore the worried lines of man who has long since tried to think how best to articulate his next words. The coil tightened in Zoe's stomach.</p>
      <p>"Ser, I'm afraid it's the little lord."</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p><em>So many hungry mouths</em>, Adam watched, as he sat on the lesser chair beside the Iron Throne; vacant while the king took a tour of his city. <em>And there is not enough gold for all of them.</em></p>
      <p>Usually, Adam would be pleased at the offer to dispense justice in Clara's name. Just as he did in small council meetings, he liked calling for order and calling the shots. Yet it was with difficulty that he made hard choices, and knew he would find no favor.</p>
      <p>He was starting to learn why Tyrion had been disliked, and that not wholly for just being a dwarf.</p>
      <p>The smallfolk piled up, bustling against each other; Adam watched them with the faint distaste and a careful eye lest murmur break out into a riot. Of course, the gold cloaks were there; but he did not want to precipitate a scene. Ser Mandon was closest by, but Ser Barristan and the Hound were with the king; and Ser Arys with Tommen. He felt safe, but he could still feel a good deal safer once all this was over with.</p>
      <p>" - Your Grace, the costs are as high as the gods," pleaded one petitioner, his rags and on bent knee professed his devotion. "We must have food to eat."</p>
      <p>"Hunters resume in the kingswood," Adam reminded him. Yet they did not always catch their prey; and it took time to set traps and wait for the animals to fall into them in a lull.</p>
      <p>
        <em>Waiting, as we all are waiting. Armies march and rail, and I must sit here and say the same words and keep the peace.</em>
      </p>
      <p>"You all eat fine, up in your high keep!" railed a protestor, he of robes and of ilk who had been decrying the influence of the mighty from his pulpit set up in the market. Adam's eyes flared to hear such a torrent, and he wished he could but raise a finger like Lord Tywin and have the man taken care of. "What about the sodden poor? What about the bareclothes, and the barefoot?"</p>
      <p>"Then it shall be decided," Adam called out, in a voice he hoped rung with truth. "The table of the high is indeed too full. Hence we shall be giving from ours to yours."</p>
      <p>"Your leavings, eh?" called the priest. "Some chicken bones and mouldy bread?"</p>
      <p>Adam rose, skirts stirring in an embrace. At least he could still count on a certain Lannister presence, a queenly gift, Cersei's looks. "There shall be food provided to all. Not as much, and not as fine as you think; but all the same. And in a show of solidarity, the king and myself shall eat the same fare in this here throne room - "</p>
      <p>" - and stuff your faces back safe in the Red Keep!" called the priest. "Whoremongers, and bastards of incest! The putrid shall have their day… "</p>
      <p>Adam's lips tightened and he turned to Ser Mandon and the priest was dragged to the dungeons. He nodded that the next petitioner might come forth, and raised his eyebrow in warning that the man better not attempt the same drama act of ludicrosy.</p>
      <p><em>It'll be hard enough to convince Clara to ditch turkey and wine</em>, Adam told himself as he nodded to the petitioner's leanings in what he hoped was a patient tone.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>"It is an honor, mmm, Your Grace," nodded the wisdom, as Clara shivered in the cold, and wished she had plucked one of the queen's fur coats when she had exited her chambers that morning.</p>
      <p><em>I'd look ridiculous, like I was trying to flaunt myself like Renly</em>, Clara figured. Yet Renly had an army, and simply for buggering Loras had he made common cause with the Tyrells.</p>
      <p>Flowery, fruit-loving, farmscape Tyrells of the Reach, and all their men lining up for show.</p>
      <p>She hated to hear of their feasts; of their dalliances on the road, of elaborate pavilions and jousts with stands and nothing but time; time to wile away while the rest of them faced the hard tack.</p>
      <p><em>This must've been how Stannis felt during the siege of his home</em>, Clara figured, and shuddered to have eaten rats and rope. Adam was always too vivid; he had always made others uncomfortable with how blatantly honest he was. He was so pathetically fawning to be loved.</p>
      <p>"This way… " the wisdom interrupted her thoughts, and led her into one of the chambers.</p>
      <p>Brick- and dust dry, Clara coughed as she held one of the pots which seemed too cold in her hand. She swirled it around, the eddying surface of green and it grew a bit warmer. With haste, the wisdom replaced it in the sand.</p>
      <p>"We must, mmm, be careful," he stood back and admired the gallery like a museum piece.</p>
      <p>"Will there be enough?" Clara advised, and received a wise nod.</p>
      <p>"Oh, yes," he continued. "We have been working tirelessly, you see."</p>
      <p>"You better," Clara snapped. "There'll be no work for you if Stannis comes. You count my word."</p>
      <p>The wisdom considered that truth, and beckoned to an acolyte. He led them down further rooms, and saw into where more were stirring wildfire and making it complacent.</p>
      <p><em>How's this, Stannis?</em> Clara smiled. <em>You try take my city and I'll burn you alive.</em></p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max looked forward to his sessions with Ser Barristan; it was not the same as with Syrio, and he learned slower being built as a girl as he was, and the bruises came all the same. Yet word came that Ser Barristan must needs attend the king, of course as was his duty.</p>
      <p>Max instead offered to spar against the Redwyne twins, who rallied and called him names. <em>Traitor's daughter. Mud flea. Dirt brain.</em></p>
      <p>It was like being at school; and he balled his hands into fists. If he hadn't known their worth as hostages, he'd stick Needle right and good up their arses. Yet their father had ships; and the queen had reminded him how important those ships might be in the battle to come.</p>
      <p>So he buried his anger, which he hated doing; and joined the others clambering for the throne room. It was in session to hear of Ser Cleos Frey, bringing a peace treaty from Robb Stark. Ser Boros stood silent beside Max.</p>
      <p>"... we cannot accept this," the queen called, tiny atop her little chair. She rose and ushered Ser Cleos take back his parchment. "What terms are these?"</p>
      <p>"The - well, he insisted, Your Grace - "</p>
      <p>Some chatter and laughter pervaded the space. Max peeked on his tiptoes to get a better view.</p>
      <p>"Well, if he <em>insisted</em>," the queen shook her head. "Word is, he allowed my brother to die in his company. Hah! How dare he?"</p>
      <p>"I-it was not Robb Stark, Your Grace," Ser Cleos hesitated.</p>
      <p>"Oh, yes, let me remember," the queen called. "It was at the Twins, wasn't it? Your grandfather's home? Is he the one to blame, I wonder?"</p>
      <p>"N-no," Ser Cleos stuttered. The queen shot him a withering look.</p>
      <p>"Likelihood is, we start trading hostages, and theirs all die," the queen raised an eyebrow. "They get their father and daughters back, and we get nothing! Peace? Oh, but they'll rise again. Go away, ser."</p>
      <p>Ser Cleos bowed and scraped, and Max, bored; took his turn. He left for the yard, and watched the Redwyne twins play at jousting. The quintain swung round, and Hobber ducked in time.</p>
      <p><em>You won't duck when I stick you with the pointy end</em>, Max fumed, and took the stairs back up to his chambers with Ser Boros close by.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace liked the common fare; it reminded her of when she and Adam played adventurers, and had packed their own lunch to go high up in the hills of their farm back home. They had not gotten far when Adam had teased her and she had scratched him; they ate separately, with rancor shouted afar, and returned with their little lunch boxes empty; and their parents had paid no attention to either.</p>
      <p>Yet eating up on the high table, she itched under the scrutiny. She sipped her pea soup and tried not to notice how the smallfolk and merchants eyed them so. It was only them; the queen was in session with the small council; and Clara had declared to eat in her chambers from now on.</p>
      <p>Myrcella and Sansa ate quietly; Max sometimes stopped by, but it was not united a royal effort. They ate and the richer food was passed down the tables; fought over like scraps and dogs.</p>
      <p><em>They know we have more in the larder</em>, Grace felt their eyes. <em>No matter how much they're given, there's never enough</em>.</p>
      <p>Smallfolk lined the halls and walls; any that attended the 'soup kitchen' only reported the next day in court that their stalls were robbed or their houses broken into. Grace had been led from the throne room by Ser Arys, when one man reported that one of his daughters had been raped, and the other who resisted got stabbed afterwards.</p>
      <p><em>Why can't they all get along?</em> Grace wondered, as a fat, odious merchant watched the soup dribble from her chin. <em>We're doing the best we can.</em></p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe followed Roose's standard as he rode ahead; the Trident flowing forth, their march almost as swift as the one when Robb had split his force at the Twins. She had broken in her horse, but had given him over to an ailing soldier who had grinned his thanks, and whose limp had plagued the procession.</p>
      <p>Yet Roose kept a steady lead, and Zoe's eyes bore into his back. She walked along the others; well-fed and rested and bathed, yet they all wore an acrimony of war. Theirs had been a defeat even if Robb's had been a victory; and some would have preferred, no doubt, to be part of the selected charge to break Ser Jaime's host in the Whispering Wood.</p>
      <p>Yet these northerners were hardy and loyal, and a man like Roose Bolton ensured his cattle were kept in good order. The procession dragged on; the light spit of rain, the mud dragging from ruts of carts and horses, and the Trident frothed, where they had seen men with sigils they recognised, injuries of blood gruesome…</p>
      <p>Zoe's greatsword was strapped by her side, and she had caught a youth looking at it. He had wondered how she wielded it, and when she demonstrated with but one hand, he was impressed. She asked him where he was from, and he replied from Barrowton. She noted that of his admittedly impressive sigil, there were the fewest of men; yet Roose, Roose was to blame.</p>
      <p><em>I'll kill the fucker</em>, Zoe promised. <em>I rode to take Lord Tywin, and now Robb Stark has a bastard in his camp.</em></p>
      <p>Theirs was a horizon of bodies and riverland: the stream which intersected and cut filled their boots and slowed their horses; yet they were not marching to battle. Whispers had cut around that Lord Tywin was brooding in Harrenhal, and while he stayed, they had not the forces to march. He would finish them for good, he would finish <em>her</em> for good, she knew.</p>
      <p>Crows flocked around the gibbet though the body had long since been plucked of sight. Zoe glanced up at who she would later learn was the innkeeper, made an example of for her perfidy in allowing the Imp to be captured.</p>
      <p><em>And I captured him back,</em> Zoe remembered the sullen glow that had melted when the maester told Lord Frey and Roose Bolton, who had set down his knife. Zoe's eyes roved over the innkeep.</p>
      <p><em>It's my fault</em>, she knew. <em>If I knew what would've happened, I would've told you to hightail it</em>.</p>
      <p>Crows continued to flock that day and the next. Tents were pitched for all but the high lords who took station in the inn. Zoe gave her place to another man, and so he warmed his rump by the fire while she shivered under a lean-to with the common men.</p>
      <p><em>If the gods are watching, let it not be said I'm a bad person</em>.</p>
      <p>Yet it plagued her that her reputation went bone-deep; as though Gregor was a curse long since whispered since the dragons had burned the land, or something Adam had drabbled on about. She could only pay so many pieces of gold to the statue of the Mother before she cried blood.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam knew he should be bothered; the talk around the small council was growing, the tempo and pace flooding within him like the bloodlines of the Trident. He should sift and wave and mock, and care not that Stannis had enough swords to take the capital.</p>
      <p>"It will take him months," blurted out Adam, who looked mockingly at her advisers. "It took Mace Tyrell a year just to starve Storm's End, and even then… "</p>
      <p>"Too true," concurred Pycelle, his chains of office clinking. "There is much to be said for Lord Tywin's force at Harrenhal. He will merely march down the kingsroad to aid the capital."</p>
      <p>"He will be harried," Petyr pointed out. "Roose Bolton's force will take him in the rear."</p>
      <p>"What do you know, Lord Baelish?" presupposed Pycelle. "You spend too much time in those brothels."</p>
      <p>"As you would know," Petyr raised an eyebrow and smirked at Pycelle, who merely clutched at the robes of his dignity.</p>
      <p>"Enough," Adam called, and theirs was a silence; a babble swiftly drew to its end. "We must make haste of this opportunity."</p>
      <p>Pycelle frowned. "What opportunity is that?"</p>
      <p>"There is Margaery Tyrell," Adam fiddled with a quill, and counted himself well composed for the matter at hand. "She will need a husband one day. Why don't we provide her one?"</p>
      <p>"His - His Grace is betrothed - " Pycelle spluttered.</p>
      <p>"To an anointed traitor," Varys pointed out. "However sweet the girl may be. Have you forgotten?"</p>
      <p>"I - I most certainly have not," Pycelle rallied behind his leanings, and began forth with a phlegm of spit.</p>
      <p>"Then it's settled," Adam decreed. "Sansa must be set aside. It only makes political sense; the <em>gods</em> be damned."</p>
      <p>Littlefinger had a wry grin at that; Varys murmured in the folds of his robes some sign of consent; and Pycelle gave a nod at that; he saw now the sense in it.</p>
      <p>"But who will go?" Petyr gave rancor back to the fold, and added to the silence. "It must be someone of import."</p>
      <p>There was nothing for it; and yet, everything hinged on it. They could not win the battle only to lose the war; the war of each other against the persistent tides of fate this land spelled.</p>
      <p>Adam moved at last. "It will have to be me."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Clara was breaking her fast in her chambers; as far as she was concerned, she did not permit the queen her food drive for the local smallfolk. She could understand their plight; but if they ran out of food, they'd just have to snatch it back off them anyway.</p>
      <p>She ripped into a capon and hungrily chewed the meat. There'd be no way she'd skimp on fare like this.</p>
      <p>Ser Barristan entered in a swirl of white; his beard and hair and cape. He looked the picture of a holy knight, fighting for justice.</p>
      <p>His nod and bow were correct, burnished with time. "Your Grace, Lord Baelish begs leave to enter."</p>
      <p>"Then I guess I better see him," Clara shrugged, and pushed aside her food. Lady, whom she was babysitting while Sansa was doling coins to the poor, hungrily ate the half-eaten scraps.</p>
      <p>Baelish wore his own particular fancy: plum and doublet and frill. He could not be said to be waning on the fashion front; Clara thought idly that his androgynous outfits looked kinda cool.</p>
      <p>"Sit down," Clara blinked, knowing she should have added a please, but it was too late now.</p>
      <p>Littlefinger was as studied as if he had been up all night preparing for an exam. His words were refined, the lilt of his tongue on point, his body language indicating every vigor of yearning.</p>
      <p>"I should hope to beg Your Grace's honor in riding to Bitterbridge on your behalf," he began.</p>
      <p>"My mother's going," Clara pointed out, hating to use the word. She thought of her own, and if it <em>had</em> been her own; she'd have her killed by her honor guard and spill crumbs in her open casket during the feast.</p>
      <p>"Your mother shows such courage," Petyr smiled. "It was the council's surprise for her to venture such. Yet surely there is danger on the road - "</p>
      <p>"She has tons of knights to follow her," Clara advised. "No more or less than you would have, I'm sure. No more than can be spared from the walls with bow or boiling oil."</p>
      <p>"And she is your mother, the Queen Regent," Petyr smirked. "Surely you do not want anything to happen to her?"</p>
      <p>Clara considered that for a moment, then dismissed it. She was blind without Adam; the equivalent of dragon's breath to part the fog of war. Yet <em>Joffrey</em> would welcome the idea, wouldn't he?</p>
      <p>"She'll speak for the crown," Clara continued dismissively, eyeing his reaction. "What better can you do that she can't?"</p>
      <p>Littlefinger eased back in his chair, and startled; noticed the direwolf panting nearby. If he had only up until now saw the yellow eyes staring back at him, he was an actor for the stage; and Clara disliked that she could not confirm which it was.</p>
      <p>Petyr smiled, and his eyes slid to hers. "She will be much aggrieved to hear the breaking of your betrothal."</p>
      <p>"She'll live," Clara figured, which she would, as much as Petyr desired to trail his fingers up her gown. "And so will my mother. But Petyr?"</p>
      <p>He rose as she did, and Clara ruffled Lady's fur. "The Starks send their regards."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>At last! At last they were marching on Harrenhal; hadn't she said it all along? If only Robb would swoop down and join forces with theirs, together they could capture the castle.</p>
      <p>Yet Robb was west, and now Lord Tywin marched to face him; so roused by horns and horses steadied of their gaits as men pulled their legs over, as swords clattering and chain mail gathered and the last of the fires were put out, Roose Bolton led the march; a cold, calculated decision.</p>
      <p>She hoped he would climb the walls so she might pull him down, to show him how betrayal feels. Yet he would not. She bet he would command from the reserve, and men would die before he risked himself. At last she could prove her worth.</p>
      <p>At least, that was until she saw the castle of Harrenhal. She gulped and realised that if the Green Fork had been a rout, then this was surely pyrrhic.</p>
      <p>Blackened towers and walls rose high and the flags of the Lannister lion high aloft. If dragons had once burnt out their occupants, then she could at least see how Lord Tywin's men had easily fit.</p>
      <p>She steadied her mount as Roose gave the call to halt. Hers had taken the injured soldier only as long as proved a tractable rider. She had buried him with a cairn, and her fingers scraped the leather innards of a gold coin left in her satchel. Ahead, the column adjusted a collective sigh.</p>
      <p>There were fires and cries on the wind; then a rider or a dozen, led by a sharp-eyed man with a lisp who made greetings and ushered them forth. Roose Bolton, pale-faced and ever silent until he spoke up with that quiet voice of his, led the march and so Zoe followed on her reliable mount.</p>
      <p>The sharp-eyed man watched her with a narrow gaze; pulling away when she stared as like to break his face at a punch.</p>
      <p>Men were dead in their beds or over trestle tables; blood splattered the flagstones of what was the biggest castle Zoe had ever imagined; as the northmen rode into the central yard. The dead, she saw, wore lions as their sigil.</p>
      <p>Roose consorted briefly with the sharp-eyed man with the lisp, then made his appointments in one of the towers. The baggage train arrived behind, and Zoe joined the other soldiers in their encampments. Business picked up, and the northmen were glad to stretch their legs and eat.</p>
      <p>But Zoe was denied the thrill of a battle; her blood was racing for a fight. From the whispers she gathered that Roose Bolton had taken the castle through a deal which had been struck.</p>
      <p><em>King's Landing, here we come. </em>Zoe thought as she sharpened her sword on a whetstone. <em>It's only a matter of time</em>.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>At any other time, Adam would've stopped to smell the roses.</p>
      <p>He rode with an escort of several hundred gold cloaks, a couple dozen knights and Ser Arys to lead, whose ties to the Reach gave the mission more honor. The soldiers clanked steel and armor; the horses whickered pulled with their reins, and the cobblestones of the roseroad fanned out to where Renly might have marched had he lived this long.</p>
      <p>As it stood, there had been nothing but for Adam to make the alliance with the Tyrells himself. He wore hunting green, leather boots and a brown cape, spurred on by the insistence of rescuing the capital.</p>
      <p>"But what will I do?" Clara had asked; not at all pleading, simply unprepared, almost lazily carefree.</p>
      <p>"I've detailed our plans to Ser Barristan," Adam had conceded. "But I must ensure the Tyrells help us… "</p>
      <p>And so Adam clicked his horse along, and the fields and winding road before him lay a lament; a song he might sing if the capital was taken in his absence. Clara, Max, and Grace's lives were on the line; it was all up to him.</p>
      <p><em>Yet I will soon make this my home</em>, Adam promised. <em>If all goes according to plan.</em></p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>"We'll be prepared," Clara said, with a calmness she did not feel.</p>
      <p>As she looked out at the yard where knights and soldiers sparred, she knew far to the south where the queen was traveling that they needed the Tyrells to win. Yet also, she needed to survive her wedding.</p>
      <p>"I was shocked to hear of Lord Baelish's death," Varys admitted, as he tottered beside her tour of the castle walls; men preparing arrows and vats of oil, checking and double checking. "Such a tragedy. And yet, the direwolf still lives?"</p>
      <p>Clara nodded and paused at a crenellation, and looked out to where Blackwater Bay sparkled on the sea. Soon Stannis' ships would be coming, and she hoped she had all under control.</p>
      <p>"Oh, but I did hear whispers," Varys intereceded, knocking Clara off-kilter with her mirage of victory on the horizon. "A group of merchants called themselves the Antler Men plot treachery."</p>
      <p>"Treachery?" Clara squinted. She did not remember Adam telling her about this.</p>
      <p>Varys nodded. "I'm afraid so. They mean to open the gates for Stannis once enough of the city's men are distracted in battle."</p>
      <p>"Where are they?" Clara demanded. "Who leads them?"</p>
      <p>"I'll take you to their last known location," Varys led her along the wall, and noted the set of Clara's shoulders rise and fall; a loss of control. "Their leader is the man constructing that great chain for you."</p>
      <p>"So much for <em>his </em>help," Clara spat. She paused. There could be kingly justice, and there could be <em>Joffrey</em>'s justice.</p>
      <p>Varys watched, and Clara continued, "I want them made examples of. Drag them through the streets of the city and hang them where others might see their fate. I want their goods seized, and given to the rabid smallfolk. They hate me enough already as it is."</p>
      <p>Varys nodded along, but Clara felt a disquiet settle in her gut.</p>
      <p>
        <em>What else has Adam forgotten to tell me?</em>
      </p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max knew Ser Barristan could not be spared; so instead, he too walked with a guard on the walls, to aid his sister. In times like these, when they could not contact Adam; they needed each other, and so they swapped advice and concentrated hard, tried not to miss anything.</p>
      <p>Stannis would not miss any opportunity, he knew. He would behead them or worse, burn them with that sexy red goddess of his.</p>
      <p>He had plans if the castle fell; yet Clara did not want to be included in them. He planned to take Grace, Sansa and Myrcella away; and there he would hide, until Lord Tywin or the Tyrells could rescue them.</p>
      <p>It might be a while, he knew. But he had to stay strong. He was in the body of a little girl, with no time to learn the skills which might actually aid in the fight. Yet for all the revolting peasantry - and a fat lot of good eating poor slop in front of them had done - the Red Keep was barred, the gates to King's Landing were shut whatever the protests outside of travelers wanting in, and he could agree with Clara on one thing: they both needed to hold the enemy off for as long as possible.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace prayed in the sept beside Myrcella; she did not have a great fondness of the gods, but the statues were quiet and calming. The High Septon was all of a fluster and a bluster; he preached calm and hoped the masses would calm down, yet they could not, would not.</p>
      <p>Stannis had enough men to ransack every one of their houses, slaughter their families, and take Red Keep to plant heads on spikes. The burnings done in the name of his false god had reached their ears.</p>
      <p>Grace fussed with the fiddly little doublet, and sighed that Ser Arys wasn't here. The queen had insisted him as part of the escort, and while Grace guessed that he might be homesick, she missed him terribly.</p>
      <p>As it was, Ser Mandon was to guard her; and she didn't like him at all. He wore that blank expression; the same she knew on her father, that was just before the clouds gathered and the storm broke.</p>
      <p>She only liked expression in older men, so she might know what to anticipate. Vaguely, she considered that that made Ser Mandon quite difficult to predict in a fight.</p>
      <p>Yet, if the city fell, what good was one skilled swordsman against all of Stannis' men? She did not know Stannis, and pictured him some terrible brute not unlike his brother the late king; with some fiery woman to cast spells, the two of them borne of a decrepit little rock harbor somewhere out to sea.</p>
      <p>He was just like the evil in fairytales, and with Adam gone, she at least could look up to Clara.</p>
      <p>But Clara, she saw, was indifferent and uncaring. Her facade was such whenever she was unsure. And Grace hated it when she saw through the thin veil of which separated children from adults; they had no more clue than she did about life, sometimes. They did not possess the omniscience she demanded… and Clara and Max were but teenagers, and she a couple years younger.</p>
      <p>They were all insane! What was the queen doing, riding south? Surely a raven would have sufficed? Oh, oh, they were all going to die!</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe trudged through the morass of cheering and drinking that had swept up the inhabitants of Harrenhal; in so large a castle, they were but toothpicks rolling on the hand of a giant.</p>
      <p>She had heard word around the camp that Storm's End fell, that Stannis was to march; yet victories scattered across the west caused a rise in tumult. Chief of all, was Lord Tywin had been repelled at Riverrun; he had tried to cross, and Ser Edmure had fought him back every step of the way.</p>
      <p><em>What if he comes here?</em> Zoe panicked. <em>We have scarce enough food as it is. Why haven't we marched on King's Landing?</em></p>
      <p>Victories in the west did not concern her. She knew, with some doubt, that Stannis would take the capital where all her friends were. At least, Adam and Clara and Grace were. Max would've scarpered, to be sure.</p>
      <p>Yet Adam knew things the others did not; though his personality did not permit him to be particularly commanding or persuasive. He might very well tell them to hop in a circle with their left foot in the air to summon a dragon that might swoop down and eliminate their enemies.</p>
      <p>And Clara would laugh in scorn; Max would push Adam; Grace would clamber after Clara.</p>
      <p>So Zoe fretted; and if the northerners queried her silence, she indulged in drink only so that they did not think she worried for her former liege, the Lannisters.</p>
      <p>
        <em>Why didn't we take Lord Tywin in the rear while Ser Edmure rode out from the front?</em>
      </p>
      <p>Zoe hated that Roose Bolton was holed up with his leeches and the ravens who delivered him messages. She was sure he was plotting; yet what else could be important than saving Ned and Sansa?</p>
      <p>Stannis would hold them hostage and Robb would have to do some serious negotiations.</p>
      <p><em>That red sorceress</em>, Zoe watched the camp fire, and of what she had heard. <em>I should have been her. I would use fire to scorch my enemies and make them tremble.</em></p>
      <p>She laughed and startled those sitting nearby, who excused themselves for the privy or for more ale. They liked her disquiet and maniacal laughter no more than she did.</p>
      <p><em>I should've been a dragon</em>, Zoe's eyes shone. <em>And I'd make Harrenhal my nest.</em></p>
      <p>It was days before she saw the stocks. The women who had so serviced Lannisters were now put on show; where a pack of Freys were using them, the woman bent over and spread in wooden restraints.</p>
      <p>"Get - off," Zoe's voice shook, trembled emotion and she drew her sword and hammered an onslaught on the ground not unlike a bull rearing. Theirs was a step back in utter horror. "Animals!"</p>
      <p>Even she with difficulty removed the restraints, and the women, only one girl whose name was Pia, rubbed their wrists. It coddled Zoe's mind what they had already gone through, and she ushered them to her sleeping roll.</p>
      <p>She would have to persuade them that it wasn't a trick, that they weren't about to be dealt to by a larger foe. Up high on the balcony, she saw Roose Bolton, almost amused. A soldier queried and Bolton shook his head dismissively.</p>
      <p>Zoe got the vague, uncomfortable sense that something had gone very wrong indeed.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Even at dusk, the beauty of Highgarden could not be denied.</p>
      <p>Adam could see from afar, the fields of farmland and of ripe produce; of golden roses and trees swaying in the wind; a paradise untouched by the war, and yet at odds with the murmuring in his belly.</p>
      <p>Theirs had been a swift ride from Bitterbridge, where Ser Loras had gave his reluctant consent that they might continue on. He was a boy stained with grief; Lord Caswell had locked himself away; Florent men had been made an example of for turning to Stannis' cause.</p>
      <p>Three walls rose in successive height; no mere army would take the castle in a day. Horns sounded, and an escort flying the gold and green sigil of House Tyrell rode forth.</p>
      <p><em>And I shall spend my final days here</em>, Adam sighed with a smile. He spurred his horse forth.</p>
      <p>Adam would have gladly worn the crimson and gold of House Lannister; yet as their party was welcomed in, surely Ser Loras would have sent word. They could not have been so unanticipated.</p>
      <p>Chambers were set aside and Adam received efficient servants who ran a bath and who laid out his favourite: a white gown slashed with cloth-of-gold.</p>
      <p>He glanced to the feather bed and ached for sleep; his head pounded, and he would need all his strength to negotiate, yet he wandered forth.</p>
      <p><em>There is not time, my friends are in danger, I must must must help them.</em> He didn't want to think about facing their ghosts.</p>
      <p>Mace Tyrell rose from his desk and bowed; the Lady Olenna whacked the flagstones with her cane and dismissed her guards. Adam took a seat and eyed the Fat Flower and his mother.</p>
      <p>They had all to play for; and she must play their game, and wager the stakes only as high as needs be.</p>
      <p>"When Ser Loras wrote of your arrival, I confess myself surprised," the Fat Flower's cheeks coloured.</p>
      <p>"Indeed," the Lady Olenna spoke up. "You were wearing such simple cloth."</p>
      <p>"I had hoped to arrive with some haste, but our journey was delayed on the road due to the fighting," Adam admitted. He did not care for the few bandits and rogues cut down. Stannis' army marched a greater peril to their cause. "I come in service to my son, who needs House Tyrell's aid in the war."</p>
      <p>"From all talk, the king is a decisive young man," Mace considered. "And yet the Young Wolf is taking castles in the west. There has even been word that his <em>own</em> home has been taken by ironborn."</p>
      <p>"And what can <em>you</em> offer?" Lady Olenna stabbed sharply. "The might of Highgarden might very well topple Stannis, if we march in time. Yet what does the <em>crown</em> offer?"</p>
      <p>"I speak for the crown, as queen regent," Adam began, and the Lady Olenna did not falter for such titles; nor did her son. "We are pleased to recommend that the king, who has set aside his betrothed on the counsel of the High Septon, would be free to wed. And his wife to be the Lady Margaery."</p>
      <p>Mace gladdened with a smile; it was all he had hoped for, it was what had been anticipated, and savoring the fruit at last of a future brightened made his cheeks coloured. "<em>That</em> is something indeed."</p>
      <p>"The king's wife?" the Lady Olenna peered. "Such an alliance would broker Highgarden and Casterly Rock for generations. Yes. Yet what about you?"</p>
      <p>"Pardon?" Adam stammered, as though caught out in his blind spot. "I am an ambassador, nothing more."</p>
      <p>"<em>You</em> want something," the Lady Olenna smiled. "Something <em>more</em> than just a wife for your son."</p>
      <p>"Well, the strength of Lord Tyrell's army, and those of his bannermen - "</p>
      <p>"<em>Quite</em> obviously so, my dear," the Lady Olenna spoke before her son could. "Margaery can hardly wed a man beheaded by that awful Stannis."</p>
      <p>Adam bridled, but held his tongue. Mace knew not what his mother had cottoned onto, but played along; he was in her field, after all. And he could not stop the bartering simply for having negotiated the top of prizes; the rest would trickle down and only make the deal sweeter. He smiled at Adam.</p>
      <p><em>They know</em>, Adam felt the sweat under his armpits as he adjusted the sleeve of his gown. <em>But I had hoped to catch them by surprise.</em></p>
      <p>"Come now, dear," the Lady Olenna ushered. "Let us hear of it."</p>
      <p>"Well," Adam meandered. "That does bring me to my other point. And I hope I am not asking too much."</p>
      <p>
        <em>I've lost my nerve and they know it. It's like that one time I got detention, and the teachers ignored that I had been good up until now. Those fuckers.</em>
      </p>
      <p>"Marriage has long been on the horizon," Adam elaborated, in a tone that the Tyrells did not yet know belied the same dry-as-dust manner in which he had submitted his speech for his history class. "We all thought Joffrey would wed Sansa; and now we can agree that he is to wed Margaery. And too, with Sansa betrothed to Tommen… "</p>
      <p><em>Aha</em>, Adam caught their exchange of glances. The brimming of ego at his foresight filled him.</p>
      <p>"... I do have an interest in Willas," Adam concluded. "Yes, for Houses Lannister and Tyrell to be ever so more iron-clad."</p>
      <p>Mace raised his eyebrows; he had not expected this so soon, and felt good at the prospects. Yet the Lady Olenna saw through this guise; she had caught the look Adam gave Willas when they passed each other in the corridor; his cane clanking.</p>
      <p>"Willas is my son and heir," Lord Mace announced unnecessarily, and the Lady Olenna's grip tightened on her son's arm. "He would make a good husband, and it would suit the alliance very well indeed if he was to be wed to the Princess Myrcella."</p>
      <p><em>Myrcella? But Willas was </em>my <em>escape! Else Lord Tywin will pack me off to Pyke, or Dorne!</em></p>
      <p>"T-he princess Myrcella," Adam dallied, and the Lady Olenna's eyes narrowed that Adam would consider himself any fit substitute. "Well, o-of course. Please excuse me; these are only a mother's tears."</p>
      <p>"You must be heartbroken, I know," Mace continued. "Yet Willas will take very good care of her, you can be assured."</p>
      <p>
        <em>I must rally. Call the banners; strike, strike! Where are my friends when I need them?</em>
      </p>
      <p>"Indeed, my son speaks the truth," the Lady Olenna cocked her head towards her son, exchanging a glance. "We would be pleased to welcome Myrcella. After all, the crown can scarce afford <em>two</em> weddings at the capital?"</p>
      <p><em>Oh yes, we can,</em> Adam thought back to the Imp and Sansa. Yet this was a way for the Tyrells to ensure Myrcella remained theirs until the vows were said. He caught the smirk on Olenna's face, and knew he had been caught in a trap. <em>Teachers will make up anything so students are shamed.</em></p>
      <p>"We are of the same mind, can we not agree?" the Lady Olenna simpered forth, never so polite when the ruin of one's enemy is so close. "Margaery is like my own daughter. And perhaps seeing Myrcella go is too hard an ache for a mother as warm as you."</p>
      <p>Adam ignored her insults; yet with Willas spoken for, he could not quite see the opportunity. Olenna could taste Adam's desperation for Highgarden - however nonplussed she might be, for in getting rid of Cersei's hold on power, they would still have to reckon with that most fierce Lord Tywin.</p>
      <p>"What are you thinking, mother?" Mace felt freer with his words; his daughter would be queen, and his son wed to a potential claimant of the Iron Throne; of even Casterly Rock, if disaster struck.</p>
      <p>"Such a shame to part daughter and mother - " the Lady Olenna decreed.</p>
      <p>Adam leapt; of course: Myrcella would be their hostage but <em>he</em> would wed Willas! He could about kiss the old woman.</p>
      <p>" - you must consider that Loras is unwed. He would make a fine husband, and his place would be here," Olenna closed the jaws of the trap with a little smile, and Mace's brow furrowed.</p>
      <p><em>I would be at Highgarden - safe, safe,</em> Adam told himself. Yet Loras was grief-stricken, and a moody husband was not worth the trouble. Besides, Lord Tywin would be furious.</p>
      <p>Mace, sensing some of Adam's discomfiture and laughing to cover the lapse; realised his mother had overplayed their hand.</p>
      <p>"Mother, the Queen Regent has had the honor of meeting Willas," Mace smiled. "No doubt she finds him a worthy candidate for the Princess Myrcella. Yet she has yet to see Loras in the bloom of his spirit. Both are weighed by grief, and surely such matters might best be discussed after Stannis is dealt with?"</p>
      <p>The Lady Olenna cannily considered Mace with a glint in her eye. She hated Cersei all the more for the insult of wanting Willas for herself but eschewing Loras; and removing the queen regent from King's Landing would have been a worthy boon, and a brief hold on Casterly Rock down the line.</p>
      <p>"Yes, indeed," the Lady Olenna concurred, with the threat usually reserved for rebuking her lord husband later in private, when she had not yet gathered the strength of spirit honed through years of marriage. "You have a point, my son. <em>Too</em> many weddings and we'll bankrupt the realm to pay for them."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Clara had ordered the highborn to the sept; Max and Grace to join them, along with Sansa to keep their spirits up. Soldiers posted to walls, firing arrows at the ships coming forth; the Red Keep made secure.</p>
      <p>Yet the sight of sails had only emboldened her; she would not sit idle. She would not stand as figurehead while a contingent of Kingsguard stood useless like nipples. She strode the walls, rallying the men who would be rallied by a boy-king, and Ser Barristan's white cape fluttered as he called out commands and provided the <em>true</em> morale boost they needed.</p>
      <p>The ships were coming, into the river just as she remembered; yet some had held back, and Clara wondered what their deal was. The bulk were coming though; and as they did, alongside the pots of pitch thrown and rocks slung by trebuchets, the chain was slowly raised.</p>
      <p>Stannis' men considered that they were not about to retreat when their victory relied ahead, and so only with some confusion did it stall them. The harbinger of doom; several ships of the royal fleet floating forth like the contents of an unflushed toilet, led Stannis' men to believe they might be boarded.</p>
      <p>And so the inferno rallied; the red then green, and Clara shielded her eyes as much as she hated losing composure. And when she saw the flames lick the enemy, she smiled.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max heard the screams of soldiers; the yells and cries and ached that he was not there to see it. It was one thing to see it on screen, and quite another in person when it was the closest thing to being <em>real</em> there was.</p>
      <p>And yet he was shepherded in with a gaggle of hens; Sansa led them in singing, and Myrcella awaited her turn. Grace/Tommen sang along, her voice niggling at him.</p>
      <p>Why wasn't he out there? He was worth ten of those craven men; Clara had told him that the gold cloaks would break if they were not led by an able commander, and so she had told him she meant Ser Barristan to lead sorties, for all the valor Adam had mentioned he'd earned.</p>
      <p><em>But what if he's wrong</em>, Max asked himself. It was too much to rely wholly on Adam's knowledge. After all, Zoe had captured Tyrion who had later died; and if she was Gregor, then what wouldn't happen in the future?</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
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    <p></p>
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      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace was glad for Sansa and Myrcella to lead the singing. She didn't know the words, but hummed along until Myrcella's frown made her sit down. She didn't like to be excluded; but conceded on this occasion, they might be right.</p>
      <p>And so she made do with making others comfortable; she passed by the Stokeworths, who were perfectly nice people; she greeted baby Ermesande, who with a twinge she promised would spirit her out of the castle if it fell; and she spied Max/Arya, lolling against a column like a lazy sellsword.</p>
      <p>"Come help," Grace called, and Max shook his head. She didn't want to know where he was going.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Atop Visenya's Hill, trebuchets were flinging rocks upon the invaders who had landed on their shores. Clara stood atop the Mud Gate where the carnage of wildfire had prohibited soldiers from disembarking from most ships. Yet at the King's Gate, action was impaled on the throats of spears and swords as a ram threatened to take it down. The Hound rode forth, waxen with fear, brutal and mutilated, and Clara saw his disdain, terror and antipathy for the battle which could not be won.</p>
      <p>"What's happened?" Clara whirled a demand.</p>
      <p>"The battle's lost," he threw down his helm, and called for wine.</p>
      <p>Clara tore her impact of the scene from where the invaders, crossing the melancholy bridge of ships to the Mud Gate; and to where the King's Gate, fled by gold cloaks from where Sandor had deserted them, about destroyed. She turned to Ser Barristan.</p>
      <p>"You have to lead it," Clara said, shakily. She had known at least of the Hound's aversion to fire and anticipated this.</p>
      <p>"Your Grace - " Ser Barristan hesitated, and nodded. She watched him go; surely, if anyone an area of effect bubble with which to rouse morale, surely he had it. And a killer sword arm, too.</p>
      <p>"Then go," Clara jerked her head at the Hound, and focused her attention on the Mud Gate below.</p>
      <p>Ser Barristan's rallying cry she heard from beyond; if he could take the attackers at the King's Gate, he too could circle round as Tyrion might have to circumvent the attackers below, massing underneath the Mud Gate. And unlike the Imp, <em>he</em> could do a better job of it.</p>
      <p>She had only a few members of the Kingsguard with her; aside from Ser Barristan, the rest she had dispatched to guard Max/Arya and Grace/Tommen. Her heart soared to see that white knight when he rode out underneath the Mud Gate, gold cloaks in force to leave a worthy sortie.</p>
      <p>"That's it," Clara breathed, looking to the dark horizon, where Stannis' army was massed like glittering bugs raising fiery hearts.</p>
      <p>A rider came forth; scorched and burden-heavy, he tore off his horse who with a yelp about bit him for his labor. He went to one knee, and if Clara would've been worried he had she not seen the Lord Commander's tail of men taking in the flank.</p>
      <p>"Your Grace," he begged, parched. "It's the King's Gate."</p>
      <p>Clara strode over to him, a sharp slap to wake him up. "Did you not see? Ser Barristan led a sortie just now. They're dispersed!"</p>
      <p>"No, Your Grace," he clutched his face, and she went pale. "Those that fled Ser Barristan's sortie regrouped."</p>
      <p>"But the ram's been taken care of!" Clara shouted shrilly. "They haven't the men to take the gate anymore!"</p>
      <p>"Beg your pardon, Your Grace," the boy gulped. "But they're in enough strength of numbers to climb the walls."</p>
      <p>"How? With fairy wings?" Clara angrily stepped forth. "Don't you lecture <em>me</em> about what I don't know!"</p>
      <p>"The houses, Your Grace," the boy clambered for reprieve. "They're climbing the houses on the quay!"</p>
      <p>Clara shook; she imagined the houses outside the King's Gate, dockworkers or some such; and if the remnants that had fled Ser Barristan were still capable, then they needed to be cut down.</p>
      <p>
        <em>We should've burned them. That's another thing Adam's forgotten about.</em>
      </p>
      <p>"So what?" Clara flew at him. "Then I'll - I'll order - "</p>
      <p>Her look went to her Kingsguard: they were all fairly competent, but it dawned on her that they hadn't the men. The majority of soldiers had gone with Ser Barristan; she had less than a half dozen Kingsguard, and those defending the Mud Gate. There was only less, spread through the city, and not time enough to regroup them into a rabble which Stannis' first attackers had already formed themselves into.</p>
      <p>"But - " Clara blanched, and though all present knew of the impact, there was not enough men. She glanced down, over the wall to where Ser Barristan fought valiantly, and his white armor and steed were truly a bane upon the enemy.</p>
      <p>She could not call him back; not while Stannis' larger threat on the horizon loomed. He was the only one to keep them at bay; and here, she had termites infesting, and she knew she had to act.</p>
      <p>"What can we do?" Clara asked in panic, to Ser Mandon who stared at her with lifeless eyes.</p>
      <p>He drew his sword, and so too did the remaining few members of the Kingsguard. The yells on the air were those of Stannis' soldiers; closer to home, they seemed more threatening.</p>
      <p>While the battle raged beyond the Mud Gate's walls, here was a more insidious rumour: one of death, that spelled her name. And the little escort she had, with what scraps of soldiers fired down arrows on below were much too encumbered to fight whole heartedly a legion of attackers.</p>
      <p>"Do we retreat, Your Grace?" Ser Meryn advised, as the soldiers, gathering strength in numbers as they fought their way up to the wall where they commandeered, only increased their pace when they spied the king.</p>
      <p>
        <em>It's all or nothing, or Stannis will take the city anyway.</em>
      </p>
      <p>Clara shakingly drew her sword against the gleeful shouts ahoy and turned to Ser Meryn. "You will send a rider to the Red Keep at once."</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>"But where are we <em>go-ing</em>," Grace pleaded, as Max/Arya led her along the corridor. Myrcella almost tripped over her skirts and Grace hung back to hold her hand and pull her along.</p>
      <p>The Red Keep was deserted, silent; the dust of the shivers of war rattling the castle; screams in the air and fires and steel and yells. Theirs was a hurried pace through corridors, and into a dark cellar of sorts with barrels.</p>
      <p>"Come on," Max urged, himself about as short as the girls as he led the way with a lit torch.</p>
      <p>Their breathing was harried and darkness closed in on them, kept at bay only by the flickering illumination Max held aloft. Grace was panicked, scared; she did not think Myrcella had been so out of breath.</p>
      <p>"Here," Max directed, and bade they sit down.</p>
      <p>Within the jaws of a dragon skull she curled up her legs and bade Myrcella close and watched as Max lit the room with sweeps of the torch. A rat scurried by; the walls shook again, it was as though they were inside the belly of the beast and could hear all the world only by murmurs.</p>
      <p>"Come sit down," Grace pleaded, but Max shook his head.</p>
      <p>"Stay there, and don't come out till I tell you to," Max warned, and hurried off.</p>
      <p>"No!" Myrcella cried, and Grace held her still, tears frozen on her cheeks.</p>
      <p>The darkness claimed them, and only Myrcella's shaking gave her subside. Grace held Myrcella and rocked her to and fro; she buried her head in Myrcella's shoulder.</p>
      <p>The murmurs went on and on, and so their castle crumbled. Grace began humming, but Myrcella quieted her.</p>
      <p>"They might hear you," Myrcella whispered.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Clara/JOFFREY</p>
      <p>Clara could see clearly the devastation of her men. Blood-stained and steel at the ready, theirs was an onslaught against the stormlanders who meant them dead.</p>
      <p>She could not move but for the Kingsguard who ringed her; their cries were in the air and theirs spelled doom for the soldiers coming onward; yet she could not draw her own.</p>
      <p>She needed to kill them, she needed to destroy them all. Her skin was flabbergasted: a pale pink thing of skin sliding off her, revealing ice beneath. She was far beyond caring. A vague murmur of heat went through her and, at an opening, she drew her blade to the killers who came forth.</p>
      <p>One raised his sword, and she deflected his blow yet received a punch from another. Ser Preston leapt to defend, and his chainmail was battered with sword strikes. Clara gripped bloody hands on the stone to pull herself upright, and when a soldier meant to finish her, an archer from the wall fired that his stinking corpse became her lover.</p>
      <p>She tore off him and a clangor of steel hit her helmet and made her dizzy. This killer met his end, too; but her Kingsguard were failing. And she was not any better.</p>
      <p>She pulled herself to a standing position, and grabbed for Lion's Tooth, and cared not for the tumult beyond the walls; she blocked against another contender, and managed to slice his shoulder, and he fought on like a man possessed. She stabbed him through the eye, and a soldier came forth as his backup and knocked the sword out of her hands. Lion's Tooth went over the wall.</p>
      <p>She scrabbled for purchase, retreating only to snatch a torch from the sconce, and jabbed it at his face only for him to cut her asunder; the trailing flames a litany upon a parchment, the curl and grin upon his face as he staggered a sword tempo, and she felt the wounds pierce her.</p>
      <p>She dropped to her knees, and glanced up at his face, and watched him devoid of head as it sloped and she glimpsed in his body. She held it like a lover, puked blood over it, and lay to the ground like it was a cushion; holding her close, giving her peace.</p>
      <p>She heard the steel and shouts and cries and hoped her mother knew she loved her; and glanced to the sky, where her father stared in stars. She heard an awful hallooo and cry reap up and lift the spirits of men, and glanced down to where the holes in her stomach were. She glimpsed blood, and pasted it on her face that she wore war paint, and an archer bent, his face ghastly and a ghoul.</p>
      <p>She wanted to tell him something, perhaps she wanted to kiss him. She closed her eyes to lean in, and her chin was a thwack on the stone, and a shuddering, chunder-spaz mania of pain.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max hurried back down the passage; his gait was swift, and his face broadened from the lines of the flames he had seen. The heat of his torch so near bobbed uncertainly as he found the bones of dragons, and saw Grace and Myrcella clutched close.</p>
      <p>Theirs was pasty-white, disconcerted fear. And when he broke a grin, they burst into tears.</p>
      <p>"Pah! Girls!" he cried, with utmost triumph, and shook them and railed them round like ring-a-ring-a-fairy.</p>
      <p>"You're a girl," Myrcella sopped, her bravery long since deserting her. Grace was ashen, and mumbling and still had he not yanked her off the ground.</p>
      <p>Max led the way back up through the cellar and into the Red Keep. There was still the thunderous mumblings and murmurings, of shouts and steel, but the vibrancy had changed: the vision was that of gold, accompanied by crimson or green, and a flood of troops which shook them all to a quaver.</p>
      <p>The first lion Grace saw, she burst into tears. And Myrcella cried too, and shook her close.</p>
      <p>Max was made of sterner stuff, but he could not deny the triumph tasted good. A bit bitter, considering he had not wielded a sword; but still, the soldiers pouring through were a good omen to come.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
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    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
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      <p>
        <strong>ASOS</strong>
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      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>She heard them cry and call, she saw the soldiers file out, she heard the whispers on the wind.</p>
      <p>And yet, theirs was a difference from her: betrayal, dishonor, and a bloody damn waste of time.</p>
      <p>For the king was dead, and the Young Wolf she served newly wed.</p>
      <p>It had not been with any understanding other than that a marriage pact had been necessary to secure the crossing; and perhaps he might have brought the Frey army round on the Green Fork and made all the difference. It was said he would have his choice of wife, and he led the Frey armies to success in the westerlands.</p>
      <p>Yet it was all for naught. The Young Wolf, as much as a boon as King Joffrey's death might have been; did not allay the cause of the Lannister-Tyrell alliance which according to the certainty with which men uttered it, spelled the doom of the northern war effort.</p>
      <p>Zoe thought smartly to herself that Robb had yet to lose a battle, and yet his honor had been tarnished; that his reputation was at stake. And the crows were dotting the battlefield outside the capital.</p>
      <p>Hers was a hollow embrace; if she had not been a large brute not under the scrutiny of northerners, she would curl up and shrivel, and cry for her friend. For she had been closest with Clara, and theirs a cool, indifferent association where Clara would claim to be poor when she ran out of pocket money; and Zoe would bark that <em>she</em> was not poor; she could simply ask for more.</p>
      <p><em>Poor</em> was living under a lean-to in this dank castle; no doubt, the capital knew its worth for all the gold of Casterly Rock and Highgarden grouped together. To her, the former merely represented the lion who had yet to best Robb in the field. Highgarden was some iota of paradise, whose soldiers merely added to the tally. These names - Randyll Tarly, the Knight of Flowers, maid Margaery - just added to the cast.</p>
      <p>Her sword would cut through them all, if only Robb would join his effort to theirs! If only she could make him see! Full front battle would accomplish so much!</p>
      <p>
        <em>But I failed. Even if Roose staged a rout, the truth is I could not cut through to kill Lord Tywin.</em>
      </p>
      <p>She glanced to the skies, and thought of her friends; they all knew more of this land than her, and yet nothing was more unknowable than black, shuddering grief.</p>
      <p>The soldiers stirred, and many northern houses roused to see Roose Bolton call attendance to them in the yard. The lords rambled and rallied, and so came forth a conclusion to march on Duskendale, followed by cheers and the mustering for battle.</p>
      <p>"Ser Gregor," Roose spoke up, and in the midst of silence, the bulk of Zoe walked forth. "You admirably fought on the Green Fork and took Tyrion Lannister captive. You have been denied a proper use of your sword arm of late."</p>
      <p>Zoe saw the northern pack gathering, and her blood got up, her adrenaline.</p>
      <p><em>Finally</em>, Zoe begrudged grimly, to see the northerners rallying so of such a soldier in their ranks. <em>Nothing like more death to dull the pain.</em></p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p><em>It's all my fault and there's nothing left in the world</em>, Adam hung his face over his hands, adroitly positioned over the chamber pot, wanting some privacy from the servants laying out gowns and jewellery.</p>
      <p>He rose and ran his hand through straggly hair, the stench of days without a bath. He limbered himself in, and though he twisted at how hot it was, it was pain he needed, pain that soothed.</p>
      <p><em>No less pain than she felt</em>, Adam told himself, remembering how it came to be that on the cusp of victory, a figurehead had fallen. And there was always 'a spare', and it had been no other trickery than Stannis' men gaining a foothold and overwhelming a small number of Kingsguard.</p>
      <p><em>Her death was in vain, and we all hurt</em>, Adam sniffed as he rubbed at the red on his body, the sag lines of childbirth which only spoke to him as scars of children brought forth.</p>
      <p>It was all going to plan! Lord Tywin and the Tyrells he knew would save the city; but scouts remained in the kingswood to warn Stannis of the impending charge. It didn't matter that they weren't taken by surprise, though.</p>
      <p>Stannis survived, and there was not room aboard Salladhor Saan's ships for all his men. The rest routed and fled and gave the green boys stories to parrot in tourneys and taverns for years to come.</p>
      <p>
        <em>But there are not years, there is each day at a time. How can I go on?</em>
      </p>
      <p>The fire and spirit which Cersei would have roused at her son's killer forged her forth to fight on. Yet Adam could only blame himself; and only out of cowardice did he not risk a knife to his wrists.</p>
      <p>If Clara was alive, she would say he was 'a drama queen', and not worth the nonsense. And perhaps she told the truth along… he had lost the will to see anything through.</p>
      <p>At least Lord Tywin had taken the mantle in his stead. He was Hand of the King - for Grace/Tommen - and so she gathered that he was preparing the funeral, the coronation, the wedding.</p>
      <p><em>The Tyrells will be mad</em>, Adam knew. <em>I made up Sansa's betrothal to Grace on the road.</em></p>
      <p>Adam dried himself and wandered out to where the servant proffered a black silk gown with red rubies. He put it on and asked that his hair tied into a bun. He was as decrepit as Cersei had play-acted after her walk of shame.</p>
      <p>Throughout the Red Keep, soldiers of lion crests and doublets of the rose bowed and made murmurs of apologies for her loss. Their spirit, despite the king's death, was giddy; they had won a serious victory against Stannis, and there was to be a royal wedding.</p>
      <p>Adam climbed the stairs to the Tower of the Hand, with Ser Mandon in attendance; his flat lifeless eyes were good to have; they parroted how Adam felt. Of course, Ser Barristan was now the chief lead of Grace's guard, and Ser Arys but one of few, for the remaining had died defending the king.</p>
      <p>On the upward climb, Ser Addam Marbrand made his descent. Adam blinked; his copper hair and fiery tree sigil and handsome visage. Ser Addam made the requisite apologies.</p>
      <p>"Ser Addam," Adam cleared his dry throat. "I hear you have command of the gold cloaks. My congratulations."</p>
      <p>Ser Addam paused at that; a glance at Ser Mandon received with not one at all.</p>
      <p>"Your Grace, I fear you hear wrong. Ser Jacelyn <em>Bywater</em> still holds the post, my lady."</p>
      <p>"Oh," Adam's head hurt, and he nodded. "Of course. I must offer my apologies, then; on the news of Robb Stark taking Ashemark. I hope your father - "</p>
      <p>"My father was visiting Casterly Rock at the time," Ser Addam conceded. "Yet there is much the Young Wolf has to pay for. If you'll excuse me."</p>
      <p>"Of course," Adam accepted his bow, and continued upward.</p>
      <p>The time had come at last, to meet Lord Tywin. And he had thought of many situations where he might prove a valuable aid; and knew none of them would help the state he had left the capital in.</p>
      <p>Lord Tywin glanced up from his desk, as Adam was already used to the practised majesty of the man.</p>
      <p>"Father," Adam nodded, as Ser Mandon waited outside, and the doors were closed.</p>
      <p>"Cersei," Lord Tywin offered a chair. His face changed not a jot; Adam took a seat and was wan and drawn and tired, and had not been out of his chambers since the day he arrived. "You'll be pleased to learn that the funeral will be held in a matter of days. Every respect will be given to my grandson."</p>
      <p>"Yes… " Adam nodded, so relieved that there was a <em>man</em> in charge; someone who could take a mess of things and make magic of it. "Father, I learned of Tyrion - "</p>
      <p>"Gregor Clegane will pay," Lord Tywin's mouth tightened. "That was a droll bit of theatric; dragging him across the Green Fork. Make no mistake; he will pay."</p>
      <p>Adam took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm very glad you're here, Father. I have no heart for ruling, and I must request to return to Casterly Rock."</p>
      <p>Lord Tywin watched her with green-gold eyes. "There may yet be time before that. Tommen's wedding to Margaery will be due; Lord Tyrell is under the misapprehension that he was betrothed to Sansa Stark. The fact of the matter has been corrected."</p>
      <p>Adam nodded, and need not explain that his diplomatic skills needed polish; no doubt, he had heard the worth of her while she lay in her sickbed.</p>
      <p>
        <em>But unlike Tyrion, I did not fear Father coming home to roost and fixing things. I'm only a follower.</em>
      </p>
      <p>"I did offer myself for Willas," Adam met Lord Tywin's eye. "Yet the grandmother turned it around on me. Of course, Myrcella is in every way a better bride; and I had - "</p>
      <p>"It does not matter," Lord Tywin interrupted. "Our alliance still holds with the Tyrells two-fold. Yet there is still the issue of the Starks."</p>
      <p>"Robb has taken an injury at the Crag," Adam guessed. "He has wed the Westerling girl… "</p>
      <p>Lord Tywin did not show surprise. "His days are numbered, and with his brothers dead, Sansa is the key to the north. There can be no peace, not while he has murdered a hostage in his keeping. His father will sail to Eastwatch when the tides are smooth."</p>
      <p>Adam nodded; he only felt a hollow in his gut, and a thudding in his head. If a sip of wine would dull the pain…</p>
      <p>"Sansa Stark must be wed," Lord Tywin held her gaze under the clasp of his hands. "Yet to whom?"</p>
      <p>"Lancel, if not Tyrek," Adam considered, and had he any strength of spirit, he would have welcomed that Lord Tywin was asking <em>him</em>; the gratification so sweet he would only savor later. "Or Jaime… "</p>
      <p>"Your brother has escaped. My men are looking for him. When he is found, I mean for him to leave the Kingsguard."</p>
      <p>Adam cleared his throat. "Also, Father. The Tyrells may ask for Sansa's hand for Ser Loras after the royal wedding… "</p>
      <p>"Then we must act fast," Lord Tywin continued. "I will bring up the matter with Kevan."</p>
      <p>Adam rose, sensing he was being dismissed. He summoned what duty he could.</p>
      <p>"I'm sorry I couldn't save him, Father."</p>
      <p>Lord Tywin nodded to the door and kept busy resuming with his letters. Adam swept no backward gaze; his heart ached long enough already for absolution; what was a couple days more?</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
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      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max fancied he had all the rage Arya would have, and her list would only get longer. If he didn't conjure up someone's else, he'd be stuck with his own; and if he fell into that hole, he'd never get back up again.</p>
      <p>King's Landing under Lord Tywin was a different regime from when it was under laid-back Clara and determined Adam. The Hand of the King, as far as he could see, made conditions ideal; due in no small part to the Tyrells who had opened the roseroad, and were offering free food to all.</p>
      <p>
        <em>It's not as though I was starving anyway. But it won't bring my sister back.</em>
      </p>
      <p>Max had caught sight of the beautiful maid Margaery, she who was quickly acquisition to wed the next-in-line, Grace/Tommen of all people. How she would cope with kingship was anyone's guess.</p>
      <p>Yet his brimming fire remained for Adam, more than for Clara not retreating during the battle. She had fought valiantly; and if she had retreated, she would not be herself; she would be <em>Joffrey</em>, and of his sister he was proud.</p>
      <p>No matter how well laid Adam's plans were, they went to shit. And even if one day he might forgive him, he directed all his blame his way anyway. For he was hurting, and Arya Stark had too keen a grief for Joffrey Baratheon to tell anyone else.</p>
      <p>He mulled over these thoughts in the privacy of the gardens where Lady Olenna held court. She and Margaery had invited Max and Sansa to tea; but Max had been stuck with the lesser cousins, Alla and Megga and Elinor.</p>
      <p>His grief created a vast swathe; and he could at least say it was over Bran and Rickon. But they liked not the look in his eyes, and they kept some way away.</p>
      <p>
        <em>Then nothing's changed. I'm a hostage here till time immemorial.</em>
      </p>
      <p>He realised his sparring lessons with Ser Barristan would have to stop. Max had quickly cottoned on during a court session, that Lord Tywin who had called in the favors post-Blackwater dispensing knighthoods and land, was <em>not</em> a man to be trifled with.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace was numb; and nothing moved her along like the conveyor belt of authority and discipline. She wept for Clara, of course; she held Adam but a distance with her words offered as boilerplate as Sansa did when she heard of her brothers' fates, and since she was underage, all her decisions were made for her with but the ornamentals of sealing wax with the royal stamp.</p>
      <p>The future was prepared and planned for her - but she was in the body of a boy! - and though she was expected to wed Margaery, it would not be for a very long time that she'd have to share a bed.</p>
      <p>And Margaery! She was fair and kind and sweet and warm. She spoke to Grace, she asked how she was feeling, and she <em>cared</em>. And Grace felt disloyal that this was just how she wanted Clara to treat her.</p>
      <p>On some occasions, she sat the Iron Throne while her grandfather Lord Tywin spoke for her - thank god, for she had but little ceremonial to say - and up high she was a speck of golden curls cut short, and she had wept but she <em>did</em> look a little too much like a girl.</p>
      <p>She felt like a doll, a toy, a puppet; Clara had been the <em>real</em> king; she was razor sharp and smart and good with a sword. Grace was more a follower than Adam was; she envied the Stokeworths their sigil which she would take for her own.</p>
      <p>At least she could see Lady Ermesande, and thought that one day she might hold her own child.</p>
      <p>But in her own body, not in Tommen's! And gods, not by herself! She'd make sure her husband wouldn't leave; whom she fancied golden and protective and an angel sent to Earth.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe did not lament that she was not leading; after all, it was only by her size and force at arms that she might raise the morale of the troops. Ahead were Robett Glover, Helman Tallhart and Harrion Karstark; and she was glad to follow <em>these</em> men into battle, as they had known the difficulty of throwing back the Lannisters on the Green Fork.</p>
      <p>And they did not desert her; she had camped with them, grudgingly gained their trust, and proven her worth. Yet she almost wished she had been a northerner, like Dacey Mormont, to not have to work so hard for common ground so late in the game.</p>
      <p>Yet this had all taught her to prize her fights, and her victories, too. She kept them close like her vulnerabilities: she didn't share them. And so with a light patter of rain, Zoe urged her horse forth: she did not know exactly what Duskendale meant in the grand scheme of things, but Roose Bolton had to know what he was doing. <em>Or did he?</em></p>
      <p>For it was when they were about upon Duskendale that an army led by a man she would later learn was Randyll Tarly came upon them with well-ordered efficiency; his men standing firm in the dirt with spears as though they were statues not to yield any ground.</p>
      <p>Her sword swung like a vice and they recoiled to see her such; yet Tarly's force impeded, harried and threw them back. If the northerners rallied for justice, Tarly's men and those from assorted conflagrations fought with equal gusto.</p>
      <p>Zoe could not save any of the three commanders; and she led a disorderly rout, surprised that Tarly did not give chase. She saw why when the road ahead was blocked by westermen.</p>
      <p>Here too, she lost more men. And a lesser soldier would've staggered, but she cut through them with such ferocity that they buckled. And for her efforts, she lost more men.</p>
      <p>At least this time she was prepared for a rout, but she wished she had more time to prepare cairns. She rallied those who remained back to Harrenhal, and thought that with such efficiency had the enemy come upon them.</p>
      <p><em>He's a cold bastard,</em> Zoe knew, as the blackened walls of the castle came into view. <em>If it wasn't for the Green Fork, I'd call Duskendale coincidence.</em></p>
      <p>Yet if he had turned traitor, it was her duty to prove it to Robb.</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam gave a shuddering sob, and moved forward to pay his respects to the open bier; Joffrey wore painted stones on his eyes, and he knew that up there, somewhere, Clara was looking down.</p>
      <p>He stepped back to one side with Grace/Tommen and Lord Tywin, and felt Max/Arya's eyes burn into his back when he swept the crowd for the Tyrells.</p>
      <p>
        <em>At least they're coming out of this smelling like roses.</em>
      </p>
      <p>He joined in the litter dispensing from the sept, and took a litter back to the Red Keep. If he had any gumption, he'd sit in on the small council meetings and learn from Lord Tywin's example.</p>
      <p><em>There's nothing more to plot or predict,</em> Adam thought bitterly. <em>Grace will be king, Max an honoured hostage, Zoe an outlaw.</em> <em>There's nothing left for me here.</em></p>
      <p>Soberly, drained, Adam reached the Red Keep and crossed the yard with Ser Mandon in tow. Lannister and Tyrell soldiers sparred, the better with which to kill Stannis when next they met in battle.</p>
      <p>
        <em>Green boys or veterans, it matters not. Stannis is no longer a threat on the horizon. Nothing matters.</em>
      </p>
      <p>He entered the castle and headed for Myrcella's chambers; he wanted to say goodbye before she was shipped off to Highgarden after the royal wedding.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace's smile grew at the delights; there was much to love about the wedding feast, what with the dancers and jugglers and acrobats. And of course, the food! So much food, and she had to unbuckle the little belt on her doublet, feeling self conscious all the same.</p>
      <p>Margaery sat beside her and patted her hand, and the Lady Olenna was courteous where to most others she could incite rancor. Adam sat with a quivering lip and needed only a black veil to look like a widow; Lord Tywin watched all, and the Tyrells had all the spirit of having won the lottery.</p>
      <p>It was all so good to be true; and yet, she <em>did</em> wish she was Myrcella, who was to wed Willas Tyrell and live in Highgarden. She did <em>not</em> want to have a baby with a girl! <em>She</em> was the girl!</p>
      <p>But one minor point conceded that at least she wouldn't have to give birth; and thought that when the time came in real life, she'd have that operation where she'd go to sleep and wake up with only a scar.</p>
      <p>The marriage ceremony had been fine enough; she was a bit short, and the room a bit dusty and she didn't like all those people staring; but there had been merriment, and to lift her spirits she needed that, at least. The coronation had been swifter; after all, she wouldn't rule in her own name for a long while.</p>
      <p>If she hoped for Adam's advice, he would only shake his head and tell her that Lord Tywin had it under control. And she asked if he would marry Ser Loras, and he shook his head once more.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Adam made his way up to Lord Tywin's offices in the Tower of the Hand. He had wanted to attend the small council meeting where Varys had news of the war; but he knew most of it by now, and figured it wouldn't make a jot of difference.</p>
      <p>He could now, only live out the rest of war in a state of penance. And if he trusted the septons to keep their hands to themselves, he'd become a septa in cowl and robes.</p>
      <p>"Father," Adam knocked on the door, held open by one of the two Lannister guards flanking the entrance. "It's me."</p>
      <p>Lord Tywin was standing at a window. He turned and beckoned that she sit, though he remained standing. Adam glanced up, his sheen of reverence fractured by his grief.</p>
      <p>"How did the small council meeting go?" Adam asked.</p>
      <p>"You should have attended," Lord Tywin answered, after a pause. "It seems Daenerys Targaryen is dead. The Vale of Arryn is in uproar after Lysa almost killed herself. And Lancel will marry Sansa Stark."</p>
      <p>"Then all is good," Adam said lightly, and the burden did not leave his shoulders.</p>
      <p>"Tell me," Lord Tywin insisted, sitting on his side of the desk. "You wish to return to Casterly Rock?"</p>
      <p>Adam nodded. "I'm of no use to you here."</p>
      <p>"On the contrary," Lord Tywin spoke. "You've handled matters with some degree of competence since the king's death. Joffrey - "</p>
      <p>Adam burst into tears, and Lord Tywin merely watched in silence until he could begin again.</p>
      <p>" - Joffrey was coming into his own, before his untimely death. Our enemies are still in the field, yet we hold a strong position for the war."</p>
      <p>"Yes," Adam dabbed his eyes and sniffed. "And Tommen is in safe hands. It will be years before he can rule or can father children. So I must go… "</p>
      <p>Lord Tywin nodded. "I will have a hundred men ride with you. Ser Addam Marbrand will lead the escort; he must needs attend his father at Ashemark."</p>
      <p>"Thank you, Father," Adam nodded. "I shall try not to disappoint you in future."</p>
      <p>"Cersei," Lord Tywin continued, despite Adam's hopes that the conversation was at an end. "You are aware that our alliances will need to be made stronger?"</p>
      <p>"Yes… "</p>
      <p>"Your stay at Casterly Rock may be brief," Lord Tywin watched Adam keep his eyes to the rug. "I mean to find you a husband."</p>
      <p>Adam didn't trust himself to wriggle out of it; he merely nodded and paused and turned on his heel out into the corridor.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>Grace had been pleased to receive three cats from Margaery; however, time spent with them was minimal as she had been instructed to learn from tutors and to ride the quintain with Ser Loras, and Lord Tywin would brook no argument if she were to even think of raising a furore.</p>
      <p>The lessons were hard, the quintain harder; and she would much prefer Myrcella's lessons; singing and courtesies and sewing. She of course was now in Highgarden, and hers a quicker wedding with less attendance in what she imagined was one of the most beautiful castles in the realm.</p>
      <p>At least she had Margaery who paid attention to her; and her three cousins Alla, Megga and Elinor who were all so sweet to her. Yet the gaze they gave to her was not quite one of sisterhood; she was in a boy's body, a king's body no less, and one day she might rule.</p>
      <p>She had been sad to see Adam/Cersei go, but at least even when she became king, she'd have Lord Tywin to carry out all her duties for her. She figured that was how King Robert did it; and she would at least partake in fun activities compared to his.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Zoe/GREGOR</p>
      <p>Zoe was lauded for her actions in returning who she could from the Duskendale rout. Those soldiers who survived spoke bitterly of how they had lost; and it was only her from what she could gather who suspected of foul treachery.</p>
      <p>Overhead, Roose Bolton was coming down the stairs towards the Brave Companions returning from another raid. She grimaced to see the stray dog she had fed scraps to raised upon a spear; and had seen worse.</p>
      <p>Yet she did not want to die killing these men. She wanted to live long enough to pay each of them back in kind, and wished she had a House and an army than only her own big pair of hands.</p>
      <p>There was only so much justice she could mete out by herself.</p>
      <p>The captives the Brave Companions threw forth were not ones she recognised until their names were spoken up: Brienne of Tarth, and the Kingslayer.</p>
      <p>Brienne was essentially how she imagined herself: loyal, honor-bound and a warrior woman; the Kingslayer, who from all the talk of his skill and handsomeness, was now ragged and missing a hand. Even now, having betrayed the Lannisters, she knew how cruel Vargo Hoat could be.</p>
      <p>The Kingslayer's eyes met hers, and she was the <em>least</em> of his problems. Lord Bolton gave orders and the captives were led away.</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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      <p>Adam/CERSEI</p>
      <p>Any other time, Adam would have looked with hope and promise to see Casterly Rock, home of the Lannisters soaring out of the Sunset Sea.</p>
      <p>
        <em>And here I am practically on my deathbed.</em>
      </p>
      <p>Adam choked more sobs, covered with a lace kerchief on his horse, and Ser Addam kept a steady formation home; up through the Lion's Mouth, and where the gold columns and furnishings could be seen.</p>
      <p>
        <em>So much gold. But Lord Tywin is away from home, and what place have I here?</em>
      </p>
      <p>Adam went to the sept, after he had saddled his horse. The mount had eaten oats and he hadn't minded the saliva on his clothes.</p>
      <p>
        <em>All a penance. Perhaps I should take the cloth of the Silent Sisters, if Lord Tywin would not forbid it, and if I could stand not talking for a moment longer than necessary.</em>
      </p>
      <p>And Adam knelt in front of the Mother, and hoped to see a flicker of blue; any shattering of reality, but the cold was oppressive, the stone unyielding, and the coughs of soldiers around him reminded him that this was real, very real.</p>
      <p>And he would carry this guilt and grief beyond these shores, into futures past.</p>
      <p>He gathered to his feet, skirts sweeping on the dust as it gathered, and made it into chambers set aside which surely must have been Cersei's as a girl, and hers for when she last stayed at Casterly Rock.</p>
      <p>With a canopied bed and servants galore, Adam undressed and bathed and into a most comfortable feather bed did he unwind, and curled with hot shame that he could relax while Clara lay dead.</p>
      <p>
        <em>Not dead, she's up there. Watching, waiting. Hell is up there, and one day I will go to it.</em>
      </p>
      <p>He clutched the pillow and sobbed, and hoped that if Clara was watching, he meant to apologise for his sins.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Max/ARYA</p>
      <p>Max had crouched and quivered as a child; he imagined such happening if he were fearful of grown ups, and of his father if he had lived long. He had especially hated horror games, of fearing when the enemy would look round and spot him, and all his senses were trained.</p>
      <p>He was the perfect pickpocket, knave, black-hearted rogue; if he were not a little girl.</p>
      <p>And so, slowly, came too the enemy's eye. He thought as a girl, as Arya Stark where Sansa had wed Lancel most uncommonly dutiful and sorrowful; that the tower would not swing around to fix its ever seeing glare like a Sauron eye to find him.</p>
      <p>And yet they did find him. Lord Tywin's soldiers knocked on his door, and Arya Stark was summoned.</p>
      <p>
        <em>No, demanded. Clara would never dare.</em>
      </p>
      <p>But he knew she would. And he was not dealing with Adam, who in his gut, he felt betrayed by for leaving him as it unfolded that his influence was waning, or at least non-existent as he would find.</p>
      <p>"You are to be sent north," spoke Kevan, a relative of the Lannisters, Max gathered. "Back home."</p>
      <p>And so with a refrain, with a frown, and some degree of skill in unearthing his memories, he realised exactly what they meant.</p>
      <p>And did he raise a riot and a ruckus!</p>
      <p>And he was but a little girl and so they sharply reprimanded her, and ordered that she be put in chains; and Max knew to conserve his anger even if he could not feign submissiveness quite so pathetic like a cowed dog as Adam did; and he earned his chambers back under guard.</p>
      <p>Yet his shoulders shook and he heaved; and he was unarmed, and he was being sent north.</p>
      <p>And without Adam! And even Grace/Tommen, who was the king, could not help him.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p>Grace/TOMMEN</p>
      <p>"But why?" Grace frowned, when she had heard of the matter from whispers.</p>
      <p>"Who told you?" Lord Tywin faced her, in his chambers when Grace buckled and avoided his stare.</p>
      <p>"Varys," she admitted, and Lord Tywin moved not an inch. "Isn't Winterfell burned?"</p>
      <p>"You are friends with the Stark girl?" Lord Tywin asked, and Grace nodded. "She will be taken care of. Lord Bolton means to wed her to his son."</p>
      <p>"Oh," Grace replied, and she who knew not who Lord Bolton was. "Well, maybe I can go see her."</p>
      <p>"You are the king," Lord Tywin replied. "You have important business <em>here</em>."</p>
      <p>Yet Grace did not <em>feel</em> king. Lord Tywin did all the work, and she was delegated to learn all this useless stuff that her friends would be better off learning. Max swordplay to be sure, and Adam histories, and Clara tactics and strategy… and Zoe the ruthlessness with which she might topple her enemies.</p>
      <p>But that wasn't fair, she knew. For Zoe's efforts, Ser Gregor's name was being risen in the north. Perhaps it was <em>justice</em>, that Zoe knew best, and could enact well if she were to be king, or queen.</p>
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